Searching for Your Purpose . . .

Our worship service today included a short video of street interviews with 20- and 30-something Americans. The interviewer asked all of them, “What is your purpose,” or “do you have a purpose.” Responses ranged from “just being happy, having fun, and living one day at a time” from the 20-somethings, to “getting through life without killing anyone and being happy” from the 30-somethings. Folks in the congregation laughed, and applauded the one young man who said he was a Christian. He never really answered the interviewer’s question either, but he got audience points for saying he was a believer. At least he seemed to know that he should have a purpose larger than his own gratification.

Praise to The Creator of All Earth’s Days . . .

  What mighty praise, O God,
      belongs to you in Zion.
   We will fulfill our vows to you,
     for you answer our prayers.
      All of us must come to you.
  Though we are overwhelmed by our sins,
      you forgive them all.
  What joy for those you choose to bring near,
      those who live in your holy courts.
   What festivities await us
      inside your holy Temple.
  You faithfully answer our prayers with awesome deeds,
      O God our savior.
   You are the hope of everyone on earth,
      even those who sail on distant seas.
 You formed the mountains by your power
      and armed yourself with mighty strength.
   You quieted the raging oceans
      with their pounding waves
      and silenced the shouting of the nations.
  Those who live at the ends of the earth
      stand in awe of your wonders.
   From where the sun rises to where it sets,
      you inspire shouts of joy.

   You take care of the earth and water it,
      making it rich and fertile.
   The river of God has plenty of water;
      it provides a bountiful harvest of grain,
      for you have ordered it so.
  You drench the plowed ground with rain,
      melting the clods and leveling the ridges.
   You soften the earth with showers
      and bless its abundant crops.
   You crown the year with a bountiful harvest;
      even the hard pathways overflow with abundance.
   The grasslands of the wilderness become a lush pasture,
      and the hillsides blossom with joy.
   The meadows are clothed with flocks of sheep,
      and the valleys are carpeted with grain.
      They all shout and sing for joy! (Psalm 65)

Earth Day In Amish Country . . .

Earth Day in Amish country has a special significance. Folks here are rooted in the earth. They’re farmers, tilling, laboring, sweating, and working without electricity or modern conveniences from sunrise to sunset. Everything they do is done by hand or with the help of animals. Their simple lifestyle and their farming techniques really pay off for them, healthwise.

A study of the Amish, published in the January 2004 Medicine & Science in Sports & Exercise, found that the obesity rate among Amish farmers and their wives is only 4 percent. An Amish farmer, plowing fields behind a team of horses, averages 51,000 steps in one day–compared to 2,000-3,000 for the average US office worker. They are six times more active than the average non-Amish citizen, and it bears healthy fruit–in the longevity of their lives and in the productivity of their farms.

Strange event . . .

I came home the other night about midnight, and in the yard across the road, a widowed neighbor was intently digging under a flood light, between his house and his new garage. The hole was massive, but when he saw me drive by he turned off the light. By the time I turned the car around and pulled into my parking space,  I could no longer see what he was doing, although I could still hear him digging. It was a curious event. My investigative mode kicked in and I started wondering what (or who) he was burying.

I finally decided nothing that bizarre could be happening on my mountain. After all, that guy helped me dig out my car wheels one icey afternoon. He was probably just burying what was left of an illegally bagged deer, or maybe he was doing some construction digging without a building permit, right? But I logged the event in my imagination, in case I might ever write a local crime novel . . .

Over the weekend, when I came home from church, he and the next door neighbor were talking in his yard. The only phrase I heard, before the men went back to their separate houses, was “she was fifteen years old…” Probably no connection to that digging episode, but I instinctively added another piece to the crime-novel file . . .

Spring Weather . . .

I was freezing this morning when I woke up. My thermometers were all reading “60 degrees” so I started whining to the Lord, “I want my heat back!” It’s seriously annoying when they turn the boiler off on some arbitrary date and it’s still cold.

The last time I turned on the old, rusty, non-thermostated baseboard heater by the living room window, it cost me almost $100 for the month and it was still below 60 degrees inside. I won’t do that again. The landlord refused to replace that unit, so I just keep it disconnected. 

But today, by the time I left for work, it was 75 degrees outside. <sigh> Well, at least the temperature difference pays off all summer. I haven’t ever needed to use the dinosaur, energy-challenged air conditioner. (Nope, not even once!)

Love & Psycho-Babble . . .

Love is a Choice. In the life of a Christian, no matter where we’ve come from–trauma, abuse, a “bad self image,” a “good self image,” “bad home,” “good home,” wealth, poverty, human frailty, violence, addiction, weakness, or sin–Love is the only choice.

There are thousands of situations that will distract us from loving one another the way God loves us–if we choose to let them -> if we settle for doing only “what’s humanly possible.” But in the life of every believer, no matter how flawed or wounded, loving is an heroic choice–possible in the healing, restoring, whole-making love of Jesus Christ. But we need to ask for help! Then we need to believe that He will heal our unloving ways if we ask Him!

Real Love is *not* defined by psycho-babble. It is not a byproduct of some therapeutic technique, adherence to some self-help program, or following the latest self-help manual. Love with a capital “L” is a choice to faithfully follow the God who loves us through any and every weakness, sin, and circumstance.

Roosting in hazardous places . . .

Killdeer birds have hazardous nesting habits. They prefer ground-level locations, close to human activity–like parking lots! They’re nesting all over the corporate parking lot outside my work site. Sometimes the grounds keepers move the nests. Other times predators, like foxes, close in for a quick lunch.

At night, when I leave to go home, they screech, fly around or, if I come too close to their nests, they pretend to be wounded and limp off dragging a wing, trying to lure me away from the nest. Other times they just hop along beside the car, as if they’re seeing me off.

They are beautiful birds, with gorgeous markings, and docile characters, even when they’re threatened. The only time I’ve ever seen them get aggressive was when a crow decided to fly too close to a nest, and then several of them chased that crow together until he left. They inspire empathy.

And Ten Thousand Angels Giggled . . .

When God engineered our intestinal systems, do you think He laughed when He created flatulence? Do you think the angels laughed with Him, when the first dinosaur or human let out a sound that shook the cave walls and sent everyone else running upwind? Do you think we still make all of heaven giggle when we explode noxious fumes involuntarily?

Rev Bill Johnson, pastor of Bethel Church, Redding CA has a CD entitled “There Are No Poopless Cows.” I’ll bet he sees the humor!

A Thank Offering . . .

This is a Fox Sparrow–hanging out in 75 degree spring weather. As I came up the stairs this morning to the road, dozens of birds were chanting their spring canticle all over the mountain. The sound made me pause on the path to my car and look expectantly around. I love birdsongs

Listening . . .

I spend about nine hours a day listening to other folks. It’s what I do. I listen for their requests, I listen for their needs, I listen for a way I can help them. I listen to their stories, their complaints, their jokes, their pain, their joys, their anecdotes, and their frustrations. It’s my job.