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This afternoon I’m sitting in my warm hotel room, but outside my window is the beautiful Atlantic Ocean. We are near Nags Head, NC, in the Outer Banks. Right now there is cloud cover, and, would you believe it, snow flurries! but I see just a hint of blue sky trying to peek out amongst the gray clouds. There is hope that we will be able to see the sunset on the Sound side.
I love the ocean; I have since I was a little girl. Until age four I lived in Brookings, OR, which is a Southern Oregon coastal town. I don’t remember much, but I do remember being on the beach, eating sandwiches which were more sand than peanut butter and jelly, and bracing my small self against strong wind gusts. I remember the fire pits on the beach, and crab — delicious crab.
We moved to California when I was four, and though we didn’t live in a coastal town, we lived about thirty-five miles from Bodega Bay (anyone old enough to have seen Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds”?) and fifty-five miles from San Francisco. Going to the beach meant watching the ocean, and ice-cold, numb-your-feet-and-legs cold water, very sharp rocks and looking for sea lions. Of course there was fish and chips, eaten outside in the cold wind, with your hair slapping in your face. Building sand castles, and watching them be washed away. Finding small tide pools and seeing starfish. Gathering drift wood. Going to the zoo and seeing the ocean. Watching the big ships set sail on the Pacific on the way down to San Francisco (it wasn’t until years later that I realized we were passing Mare Island and those ships were headed to VietNam, filled with sailors headed off to war).
In high school, the ocean meant youth group trips to the beach, and the yearly all-night youth night, playing football on the beach at midnight, with a roaring fire and hot dogs (if you liked burnt ones). Walks along the beach with our dog (he took his first drink of salt water and didn’t want to return to the ocean). Sitting and walking and listening to the constancy of the waves.
I went to college in Michigan, which has a rather large lake (even with waves) but it wasn’t the Pacific. On winter break I would don my winter coat, with hood and mittens, a book, a lawn chair, and a thermos of coffee. I would find a large rock that made a small wind break and sit and read and listen and smell. It was so good for my soul. . .
Marriage returned me to Michigan, the Piedmont valley of North Carolina, southern Arizona, and finally, Savannah, Georgia! An ocean! Tybee Island, watching Nate and Diana chase fiddler crabs, fish camp, all the shrimp I could eat (I was pregnant with Tanya and craved shrimp), the constant waves.
Then we moved to Interior Alaska — the furthest I’d been from an ocean (the Arctic Ocean wasn’t a possibility or a real desire; nor the Bering Sea; the Pacific at Anchorage was 360 miles away). I remember going to visit my parents with the kids, and going to the Pacific in January or February. The kids had a grand time walking along the beach; we were virtually the only ones there (it was winter and no one goes to the beach in the winter). As you can see, I would take most any opportunity to visit the ocean.
Now we live in Oregon, and the Pacific is about two hours away (or so). Every time I go, it’s like the salt air and the sound of the waves comfort me, and feed my soul. there’s a sense of safety I feel, even when there’s a storm and the winds are raging and the sea is foaming. I love the ocean; I love that God created the ocean.
So, it seems natural that my husband and I would make time for an ocean visit, even though our son lives in Central Virginia. We had never been to the Outer Banks before; I’m so glad we came. I just looked out the window again, and there’s just a hint of pink sky, but it looks as though there won’t be much of a sunset over the Sound. . .
Watching the ocean, listening to the waves, reminded me of some Scripture. . .(thank you, ESV)
Lamentations 3:21 But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:
22 The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end;
23 they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
24 “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him.”
Psalm 36:5 Your steadfast love, O Lord, extends to the heavens,
your faithfulness to the clouds.
6 Your righteousness is like the mountains of God;your judgments are like the great deep;
man and beast you save, O Lord.7 How precious is your steadfast love, O God!
The children of mankind take refuge in the shadow of your wings.
8 They feast on the abundance of your house, and you give them drink from the river of your delights.
9 For with you is the fountain of life; in your light do we see light.10 Oh, continue your steadfast love to those who know you, and your righteousness to the upright of heart!
11 Let not the foot of arrogance come upon me, nor the hand of the wicked drive me away.
12 There the evildoers lie fallen; they are thrust down, unable to rise.Why is it that when I come to the majestic ocean, where I am enthralled and safe and yet feel so insignificant and small, I am so captivated by the beauty and the majesty and the strength? It’s like the steadfast love of the Lord, which is so big and strong and mysterious and captivating and terrifying, yet safe and secure. God wraps me, little, insignifcant me, in His steadfast love, His unchanging love; His love as constant as the ocean, and even greater because even the seas have their boundaries, but the Lord’s steadfast love knows no bounds. God is endless, majestic, untameable — and the ocean waves, the salt air, the sea wind (no, it’s rarely a breeze when I’m at the ocean)– they remind me of His constant love for me.
I love the ocean. . .
As a side note, I had to just giggle at the snow flurries when we stood on the balcony of the hotel room. You see, each time we have gone somewhere with our darling, Charlotte, NC-raised, daughter-in-law, the weather has been unusually cold and the poor girl practically freezes to death! We really thought we were safe this time; after all, this is North Carolina, even if it is January!
I thought I was going to write something “really profound” that God was teaching me. Periodically (ok, quite frequently) I check my son’s blog at www.nateschlomann.com to see what he’s up to. Read his latest post about throwing ourselves among the thorns. I couldn’t say it any better.
Will I stay on mission, to love God with all my heart, all my soul, all my mind and all my strength, and love my neighbor as myself, and then let God give me what He pleases, and what is for my best and His glory? That sounds so much better than trying to sit on/walk on/lie on/live on thorns . . .
Have you ever had one of those days when you just wanted to have a good, old-fashioned, knock-down drag-out, meltdown? I mean the kind that has you sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor with a box of Kleenex and some version of chocolate! The kind where if you are asked to make a decision it causes a total brain-freeze?
Yesterday was just such a day in the making. I awoke with the realization that every joint was stiff and in pain; I got up, took my morning meds, got some coffee, and sat down. I heard something at the door, so I opened it to see what was outside, thought I had closed the door behind me, but evidently I let out my son and daughter-in-law’s inside-only cat. I didn’t even realize this must have happened until lunchtime, when I hadn’t seen her all morning. We went outside, looked around, called, but no Susie. I had started some Italian chicken in the crockpot, so dinner was secure, I thought. I took a short nap, and woke to the smell of burning Italian chicken. How do you burn something in a crockpot that has plenty of liquid?! I was able to salvage the chicken with some of the sauce. After that, I went outside again to look for Susie. Now, remember, when my joints are painful I am NOT supposed to overdo, but Susie . . .yes, you can guess — I overdid the walking so now my breathing is impaired and dinner is not going to taste great and Susie . . .I called my son at work and asked him to bring home rolls or refrigerator biscuits (what was I thinking, giving options!). He brought home the biscuits, which — you are right — I promptly burned (even though I was checking them every 2 or 3 minutes; I came in the other room to sit for a minute because I was dizzy). My family was so gracious — they really are great. After dinner I took my evening meds and went to bed.
This morning I awoke to even more pain and stiffness than yesterday (remember the walk to try to find Susie?). I decided to make some oatmeal to help the meds not upset my already queasy stomach. I put the oatmeal under the water spout (which is also the coffee maker) and coffee poured in instead of water! I took the coffee pods out, and then — I didn’t put it together correctly because hot water was streaming from everywhere! (remember, I haven’t had my coffee or my oatmeal yet, and I’m still trying to take my meds for the pain and stiffness) I decided to start from “square one” and realized I had the incorrect filter in place. I redid everything and finally got coffee with no extra water seeping from the machine’s pores. I ate my oatmeal (the coffee flavoring wasn’t bad, actually), drank my coffee, took my meds, and decided this would not be a day like yesterday. My husband called to check in and I calmly told him this was a pizza night, and I wasn’t getting anywhere near a stove or oven or microwave!
Now, what does all this recounting my miserable days have to do with anything? Why should anyone even care? My point is, that everyone has miserable days; being a devoted follower of Jesus Christ in no way guarantees only carefree days. The challenge is, what will you do with your miserable day? How will I handle my miserable days in 2008 and beyond?
These Scriptures were brought to my memory. Let them encourage you as they have me . . .
“. . . He has said, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” So we can confidently say, “The Lord is my helper; I will not fear; what can man do to me?” (Hebrews 13:5,6 ESV)
God is there — in burnt chicken, in bad days, in pain flares, in fatigue, it doesn’t matter — God is there, and He will never leave.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. (Psalm 23:4 ESV)
Now, I’m not saying I was at death’s door, certainly. My point is, even if I were, God would be there!
For we do not want you to be ignorant, brothers, of the affliction we experienced in Asia. For we were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself. Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death. But that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead. He delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope that he will deliver us again. You also must help us by prayer, so that many will give thanks on our behalf for the blessing granted us through the prayers of many. (2 Corinthians 1:8-11 ESV)
I read this passage so many times, and am encouraged and challenged so much. Oftentimes I find myself in a place where I just don’t think I have the mental strength or the emotional strength or the physical strength to go on. The fact is, often I don’t — but that overwhelmedness is to remind me that “without Him I can do nothing” and I must rely on God and not on my own abilities. The power that God gives is His power, and He raised the dead to life!
Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? And not one of them is forgotten before God. Why, even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not; you are of more value than many sparrows. (Luke 12:6,7 ESV)
Ok, so I had to have a bird story in here somewhere! If God knows every detail of every sparrow’s life, then God certainly knows (and cares) about every detail of my life. He knows my miserable days. He ordains them to remind me that I must trust Him and not rely on my own strength. I don’t ever have to feel abandoned or neglected — God is always there, He sees everything, and He knows everything about me. He cares so much for me, and I do know that. I’m so glad He is faithful to remind me.
Thank you, God, for Your ever presence. Thank you for caring so much for me. Thank you for giving me Your Word, to remind me of Your constant love. And, please — You know exactly where Susie is; would You please bring her home?
“. . . For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith. . .” (Philippians 3:8,9 ESV)
When I stated on my last post that a couple of Scriptures were running through my mind for the coming year, I should have said that many phrases of a couple of Scriptures. . . I guess the continual thinking and wrestling and submitting to Scripture, phrase by phrase is meditation, isn’t it?
I was thinking about Paul’s statement, “I have suffered the loss of all things;” and was thinking about what the apostle had lost. His position with the Pharisees, certainly; his freedom, which is especially a loss when you remember that Saul of Tarsus, a Jew, was also a Roman citizen, not just a Jew under Roman occupation. He lost income, time with family, credibility, just to name a few. So, when I whine about losing my voice and losing my freedom to teach as much as I want anytime I want; when I miss not being able to have a simple conversation in an auditorium filled with people, or even to participate in conversation at a table of 8 or 10 or 12 — God understands, and my “losses” are, in reality, minor inconveniences compared to what the apostle experienced.
All these losses were “counted as rubbish that he may gain Christ” — his status was nothing in comparison with Christ; his freedom was not an issue to Paul; his credibility, his physical health, all unimportant compared with Christ. That means whether or not I teach needs to be immaterial; whether I stay in bed or can walk miles is unimportant; whether I am a “social butterfly” or a “wallflower” — if I want true freedom and peace, it’s got to be Christ first, Christ only. It’s just got to be that way!
Just as I was beginning to feel, “oh great, I’m never going to get it!” the impact of the next phrases hit me square between the eyes, as it were “. . . and be found in him [Christ], not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith . . .” as long as I make “resolutions” or try to do better or make promises to God that I know I won’t keep a week or a day or an hour from now — as long as that keeps happening, I’m not “in Christ.” The trying, do-it-better attitude is the righteousness of my own that comes from the law, and it doesn’t work! That’s the point; trying to be good on my own doesn’t work, because I can’t do it on my own. It’s totally and completely Christ –any good that I do is from God, my faith to want to do good is from God, it’s all and only from God and for God. Oh, how I need the saving work of Christ! Oh, how I cherish His love and His mercy and His grace!
To be in relationship with such a great God — a voice is nothing, health is nothing, fame is nothing, friends are nothing– how could I possibly want to hang on to the control of so little when I can open my hands and receive Christ!
Oh, Father, please help me to remember what I truly have when I forget and want to grab for the “little.” Give me the desire for You; keep me close and safe in You; fill my mind and heart with You.
2008 came in quietly for me. There were no big parties, no tons of visitors. In fact, I spent a good part of the day reading and thinking, and watching the birds outside my window (the rain doesn’t seem to deter them from splashing in puddles and chirping and living their lives — there’s a lesson there).
I really don’t make “resolutions” anymore — at least not resolutions just because it’s a new year — but there are a couple of scriptures that keep running through my mind. . .
I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect. (Romans 12:1-2 ESV)
Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith— that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death. . . (Philippians 3:8-10 ESV)
This year, will I be willing to continually offer my body to God, to do whatever He asks of me? Which voices will be louder — this world’s system, others’ expectations — or the Holy Spirit’s voice, calling me to submit my will to the Father’s?
This year, will I live like knowing Christ is more important than anything else? Will anyone be able to tell without my continually announcing my decision?
The “submitting my will” stuff has already started, bigtime. Rheumatoid arthritis and only one partially-working vocal cord has made it physically counterproductive to continue teaching and speaking at the level I had been in 2007. I’m still on partial voice rest, which I’ve been on since Thanksgiving. I believe, at least for now, that “presenting my body as a living sacrifice” means being willing to be quiet, spend more time in focused prayer and bible study, and conserve my energies so that I can uphold my husband in his ministry.
What will the New Year look like for you?
