A Forgotten Art Remembered

My husband took me to a new restaurant this week while we were on the Carolina coast. Persimmons overlooks the Trent River right at the point where the Neuse River dumps its waters into it. Persimmons prides itself on using local farmers and harvesters. It was somewhat upscale from our normal choice of establishments, but that doesn't mean I had any trouble finding something to eat. In fact, at the suggestion of my man, I ordered the Sauteed Carolina Black Grouper with Ginger and Green Onion Risotto, Sauteed Local Tatsoi and Soy Brown Butter Glaze. Oh, my goodness! I'm not sure when I'd had anything so delicious! To the horror of my husband, I snapped a shot before I completely consumed it. And, yes, my friends, that is seaweed on top!
For dessert, we shared the chef's creation of the evening: fried french toast with ice cream and maple syrup. I'm sorry to say I did not get a picture of that, because if I had put my spoon down to pick up my camera, I'm afraid it would have all been consumed by my partner in crime.

But food is really not the point of this particular blog entry. As we were sitting there waiting on our fare, I asked a simple question that any 5th grader would have known. In fact, it's too embarrassing to even publish. But when my husband was unsure of the answer himself, he suggested I look it up on my phone. Later, when our meal came out, we both were doubtful of what "tatsoi" was, and so, you guessed it, I pulled out my handy cell and Googled that.

No doubt the ability to access such information is a wonderful gift. If we want to know something, we can just Google it. If all we can remember is one line or even a few words of a favorite song, then we can just put those select words into a little rectangular box, and voila, we have the entire thing at our disposal. If we like a poem by a certain author or want to know who the Amalekites were, we type it in and have it in a heartbeat.

For thousands of years, committing things to memory was the foundation for religious, political and educational instruction. Memorization was known to have staying power. Stories and prayers known "by heart" were stored deep in the mind. And at any given time, they could pop up and amuse, comfort or educate. Somewhere along the line of printing presses and the World Wide Web, we have lost the discipline of memorization. Today, we simply pull out a phone or open up a laptop. And we're the less for it. Memorization provides us with a store of learning which can be accessed anywhere and anytime -- with or without cell phone or computer. It gives the mind somewhere to go when everything else is turned off. If there's nothing lodged there, then our soul is left at the mercy of the last mental image that took our fancy.

And so I've begun some intentional memorization. I've joined Beth Moore and about 9,000 other women across the globe as we memorize 2 Scriptures a month this year. I'm including verses that encourage, that exhort, that exalt. But I'm not limiting my discipline to just Bible passages. I've also pulled out an old hymn book and have found certain songs that I love and am committing them to memory. Great Is Thy Faithfulness was the first to be remembered. I'm also embarrassed to admit I no longer can say all the books of the Bible in order. I stumble when I get to the minor prophets; therefore, I'm committing the 66 books in the correct order.

Yes, I still might have to pull out my Ally to find out about tatsoi or to refresh my memory on all the oceans of the world. But hopefully, other more pertinent and important data will be stored not only in my mind but in my heart as I develop a habit of remembering that anchors my life in biblical truth.

I have hidden Your word in my heart
that I might not sin against you (Psalm 119.11).

Just an ordinary moment...

I Love You More

My daughter and I have this thing that we do. We've done it for years, and it happened again as recently as this past week. Sometimes it's a verbal exchange, often times it's a text, but last week it was via facebook. For all our cyber friends to see, my 22-year-old baby merely wrote, "I love you, Mommy!" And my response was the same as before. "I love you more!" Yep. It's a simple and maybe silly little thing we do -- but it's our thing. And for as long as she tells me she loves me, my response will always be, "I love you more."

Sitting this morning in my "garden enclosed" (my sun room) watching the day rise up to meet the sun, I turned to Job 11:7-9. Can you fathom the mysteries of God? Can you probe the limits of the Almighty? They are higher than the heavens -- what can you do? They are deeper than the depths of the grave -- what can you know? Their measure is longer than the earth and wider than the sea."

There is no limit to God's existence. He's infinite in all directions. He is boundless in every aspect of His character -- including His love. And so as I sat there, I thought of the message I had received from my daughter, and I breathed, "I love You, Lord." And in that voice that stretches to eternity past forward to eternity beyond, I heard that familiar response, "Oh, yes. But I love you more."

Just an ordinary moment...

Confessions of a Bibliophile

I remember a few years ago when I first heard of a Kindle -- an electronic book. My response today has not changed from my response then: no thanks. There's just something about holding a book in one's hands, fingering its leaves, whether worn or new, and yes, to my mother's great horror and shame, even turning down corners on a favorite page. I really should be embarrassed at the number of periodicals that line my shelves; but I make no apologies. I love books.

A friend at the gym last week told me of a book that he thought I would enjoy and told me he had a couple of copies and would bring me one. I was really excited until he told me I would have to return it. I said, "Maybe I ought to get my own, because I love to underline and make notes in my books." To which he responded, "Oh, you can do that with this one; it's already marked up as it is." "But you want me to return it?" "Yea, but I'm in no rush to get it back." I swear I thought I was going to hyperventilate. I confess. I have a serious problem. I'm a bibliophile -- not in the sense of being an educated person but in that of being a book lover.

Of course, I do have standards. I don't read just anything and everything that comes along. I can't say I've read a lot of Oprah's Picks nor much on the New York Times Best Seller's List. But I most certainly have my most favorite authors and themes. I also have a Top 10 list, but if truth be known, there are probably more than 10 on my list. And lately, I've added 2 more.

The first was Jesus Manifesto by Leonard Sweet and Frank Viola. I don't think I've ever read a book (excluding the Bible) that exalts Christ more. In fact, the subtitle says just that: "Restoring the Supremacy and Sovereignty of Jesus Christ." Over and over, I found myself engaged in worship as I worked my way through it. And when I turned the last page, I found myself wanting to turn back to chapter 1 and read it again immediately. But more importantly, I was challenged to return to my first Love. Which was the perfect time to pick up my next book: Passion for Jesus.

I read this particular book 9 years ago when a friend gave it to me for my birthday. I loved it then and just had a desire to read again. But since Mike Bickle had given it a face lift, updating and expanding it with new chapters, I purchased a new copy. Herein lies a book that will sweep you off your feet and leave you breathless as you discover your true passion. Jesus. There are 4 chapters devoted to The Song of Songs and another to "gazing upon the throne." Hardly a page is left without a pencil notation or a tear stain.

I can honestly say that both of these books left me loving Jesus even more.

So what's next? Actually, this time it is a New York Times Bestseller, and I've already purchased it. It's Radical by David Platt. Wess Stafford, president and CEO of Compassion International writes: "David Platt challenges Christians to wake up, trade in false values rooted in the American dream, and embrace the notion that each of us is blessed by God for a global purpose .... This is a much read for every believer!" When I told my husband my plans to wait until after Christmas to read Radical, because I was afraid it would ruin the "joy of shopping," he responded: "Or is it because it's too convicting?" Guilty. But Christmas is now over....

There are others that are waiting in the wings -- and some I've already begun. The publishers sent me Dale Cramer's newest release, Paradise Valley, and so I'm well into the pages of this Amish fiction. I've picked up Frederick Buechner's Secrets in the Dark, which is 37 of his sermons. (Wow, does he ever have a way with words.) A personal goal for 2011 is to work through some spiritual disciplines, so The Sacred Way is waiting patiently for me to begin the first one: the journey of solitude and silence. And lastly, Len Sweet's book, Nudge, is ordered and on it's way here.

That ought to keep my book bag filled for awhile -- and my mind moving forward. But really, all this is just fluff and for puff. There's only one Word worth reading. It's the one that became flesh. It's the one that separates bone from marrow. And it's the only one that can truly change a life.

Just an ordinary moment...

Community

My husband questioned the grin playing across my lips. "I just love Starbucks," I replied. We were waiting on his tall decaf 3-shot Americano and my grande non-fat decaf latte with 1 Splenda and light foam, but moments earlier, while I was still waiting on the cashier to accept my gift card, I couldn't help but overhear the customer at the adjacent register ordering his drink. I noticed immediately that he was a novice. After all, he didn't know it was a "grande" and not a "grand." And I was just plum embarrassed for him as he tried to place his order. "Can you make that caramel ...." and then there was this long pause. I nearly slipped close and whispered in his ear, "Macchiato," in order to redeem him from any further humiliation. But after he stuttered "caramel" a few more times, the barista caught on and said it for me: "Caramel Macchiato." He wanted to know if she could make it decaf. Yes, a plebe.

Satisfied that the gentleman and his friend would be okay, I turned my attention to the people lining the walls like assorted toys tucked on a shelf after a long day's play. First there was a middle age couple enjoying an evening out. They spoke quietly, leaned in close, and even tasted one another's drinks. Definitely empty nesters rediscovering each other.

Next to them were 2 young girls sitting shoulder to shoulder and giggling while watching the screen on the laptop in front of them.

As my eyes progressed leftward, I witnessed 2 young college guys holding up the north wall. They were as different as night and day sitting there; one was large and black, the other small and white. And whereas their distance and lack of eye contact spoke one thing, their constant conversation said another.

Around the corner from that odd couple sat a mother and son. She was decked in a black overcoat and he was sporting his letter jacket. She seemed delighted to be sharing such a moment and was giving him her full attention across the table; he seemed almost embarrassed to be caught. Thinking about how I love to sit and talk in a coffee shop with my now adult boys -- and they with me, I wonder how long before that young man finds out it's really not so bad to have coffee with his mom.

My eyes made it on to the final group gathered in this java hut: 4 young men lining the window. Since my back was mostly to them during my wait, I didn't have quite the study advantage. But as the barista called my name and I jacketed my cup, I turned and got a quick peek as I headed for the door. Nothing really out of the norm for a coffee shop. Except maybe that male #4 was sitting there in a stocking cap and shorts and it was freezing outside. But I think what amazed me most were his .... shoes, for lack of a better work. They were more like metal slippers with casings for each toe -- like a glove. The texture reminded me of a knight's armor. Looked awfully painful to me and even more odd with the shorts. But I just smiled even larger, reiterated my original thought: "I just love Starbucks," gave a confident nod to the two original plebes, and exited this eclectic community of coffee drinkers.

Community. A science dictionary would define such as "a group of organisms or populations living and interacting with one another in a particular environment." The legal dictionary lists it as "people who live in a particular place or region and usually are linked by some common interests." We might use words such a society, association, kinship, league and even brotherhood to define this word community.

As I sat in church last week celebrating Christmas Eve communion with "my folks," I was struck by community. It was a sure place of kinship, association and brother/sisterhood. Common interest brought us together. The king's horses couldn't separate us. But that's really no surprise. After all, we had gathered to worship a God who is communal. He is a plurality of oneness. As is written in the introduction to Common Prayer, "God has lived in community from eternity as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. God as Trinity is the core reality of the universe, and that means that the core of reality is community." We are made in the image of community: whether we experience it within the walls of our worship centers or in a coffee shop.

Just an ordinary moment...

The Spirit of Advent

The meaning is in the waiting....