Our Christmas vacation has been marred a bit by technology. On Monday, Chuck bought a wifi extender. It was supposed to be no big deal they said. It was supposed to be an easy installation they said. It would allow every room of our house receive strong, fast signals they said. Hmmm. Technology is not always everything it's cracked up to be.
Santa brought the kids Disney's Infinity 2.0 with all the Marvel Avengers. It would've been awesome had our Play Station 3 not needed an update and Play Station hadn't been hacked. The update took hours. Hours are more manageable for an adult than for 9 and 11 year old kids.
This morning, over breakfast, my daughter said, "I wonder what Bible times would've been like if everyone had laptops and smart phones. Do you think people like Paul would've been able to talk to more people about Jesus? Like maybe he could have just texted his friends to come over to grill some burgers and talk about Jesus."
Hmmm. As I cleaned up the kitchen I couldn't help but think about that possibility. The Nativity? Selfies of Mary and Baby Jesus? Joseph taking Instagram photos with soft vignettes and hashtags #blessedbabymomma #sonofgod ?
I shook that one off.
Sermon on the Mount live streaming? Fishes and loaves miracle on YouTube? Pentecost via Skype?
Technology has changed our lives for the better in so many areas but we rely so heavily on it that the slightest glitch seem to render us practically useless. Shelby's question made me think about Paul, and all the others on mission in the bible, and how good they were at being present. They loved the ones they could while they could where they could.
One of my goals for 2015 is to be more present. To put my phone down, close the laptop cover, and look into the eyes of those around me. I want to show love where it's needed and receive love when it's given. To make the best of technology when I can but not be ruled by it. What are some of your goals for next year?
Friday, December 26, 2014
Monday, December 22, 2014
The Time Came
It's been one of those mornings. The kind where there's too many tasks and not enough minutes. Everyone needed to be somewhere, doing something, and everyone needed my full attention. It's Christmas Break and everyone is full of cheer and ready to go.
I'm still working though. Christmas Eve is kind of a big deal when you work for the church so there's still planning to do and tasks to tackle.
I'm also working my Wildtree business. It's a business but also a ministry. I want to help people find peace in their kitchen and be better prepared for healthy family meals. I fully realize the irony here, folks. I'm stressed over helping people de-stress.
There's laundry to fold and dogs to be walked and groceries to be shopped. I've got lists all over the counter and my phone is chiming reminders every five minutes.
Stop!
That's the word I heard in the middle of a pity party I was planning in my head.
Stop!
Okay, God. What do I do?
I went into my bedroom to sit in my rocker. I opened my Celebrate Recovery Bible because, frankly, I needed the Word of God to come packaged with recovery. I shut my eyes and held it for a minute, just trying to find my center.
God? I can't find my center.
Stop!
I opened to Luke 2. It was the only passage I could think of in the moment...I'm sure because of all the Christmas planning as of late. I read. Slowly. I read.
Suddenly a phrase practically jumped off the page. I phrase I've read a thousand times before...
the time came.
Mary and Joseph had traveled from Nazareth to Bethlehem to be counted in the census. Mary was with child. The Child. And while they were there...
the time came.
The time. The time that all creation had been waiting for. The time that the eternal clock had been ticking towards. The time. Jesus.
He was God's promise fulfilled in a tiny baby. He was the All-in-All. He was The Everlasting. He was Time. It was His Time.
Suddenly my time seemed insignificant. My tasks and my lists and my alarms could all be on hold for a bit. Jesus has come. I could sit in that peace for a minute. That's where I'd find my center.
My time had come. The time for me to get over myself. The time for me to remember that Christmas is about the amazing gift of Jesus and the salvation that he gives. The time had come to be still and know His Peace.
My lists and tasks were still waiting on me when I came out of the room. I still had family waiting on me. Nothing about my day had changed. I had changed. I didn't need to be frazzled and chaotic. I didn't need to huff and stomp. I found my center and it is Jesus.
I'm still working though. Christmas Eve is kind of a big deal when you work for the church so there's still planning to do and tasks to tackle.
I'm also working my Wildtree business. It's a business but also a ministry. I want to help people find peace in their kitchen and be better prepared for healthy family meals. I fully realize the irony here, folks. I'm stressed over helping people de-stress.
There's laundry to fold and dogs to be walked and groceries to be shopped. I've got lists all over the counter and my phone is chiming reminders every five minutes.
Stop!
That's the word I heard in the middle of a pity party I was planning in my head.
Stop!
Okay, God. What do I do?
I went into my bedroom to sit in my rocker. I opened my Celebrate Recovery Bible because, frankly, I needed the Word of God to come packaged with recovery. I shut my eyes and held it for a minute, just trying to find my center.
God? I can't find my center.
Stop!
I opened to Luke 2. It was the only passage I could think of in the moment...I'm sure because of all the Christmas planning as of late. I read. Slowly. I read.
Suddenly a phrase practically jumped off the page. I phrase I've read a thousand times before...
the time came.
Mary and Joseph had traveled from Nazareth to Bethlehem to be counted in the census. Mary was with child. The Child. And while they were there...
the time came.
The time. The time that all creation had been waiting for. The time that the eternal clock had been ticking towards. The time. Jesus.
He was God's promise fulfilled in a tiny baby. He was the All-in-All. He was The Everlasting. He was Time. It was His Time.
Suddenly my time seemed insignificant. My tasks and my lists and my alarms could all be on hold for a bit. Jesus has come. I could sit in that peace for a minute. That's where I'd find my center.
My time had come. The time for me to get over myself. The time for me to remember that Christmas is about the amazing gift of Jesus and the salvation that he gives. The time had come to be still and know His Peace.
My lists and tasks were still waiting on me when I came out of the room. I still had family waiting on me. Nothing about my day had changed. I had changed. I didn't need to be frazzled and chaotic. I didn't need to huff and stomp. I found my center and it is Jesus.
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
Celebration of Grace
I read a quote the other day that said, "The art of really celebrating life isn't about getting it right - but about receiving Grace. The sinners and the sick, the broken, the discouraged, the wounded, and burdened - we are the ones who get to celebrate grace!" It was Ann Voskamp who said the words but they could have come straight from my own heart.
It's a theory I've been wrestling with for quite some time. We live in a society that screams "Get it right!" every day. Your pie must be firm but soft and your home must be clean enough for health but with enough mess to make others comfortable. Your hair can not be gray and your eyebrows must be full...because thin eyebrows are soooo last year. Your parenting must be without flaws and your schedule must be the perfect balance of home, work, school, party,etc. Your children must be well behaved yet not robots and your spouse should always be supportive and have a twinkling gleam to his or her teeth when smiling.
All those things are lovely, although I now have to paint on eyebrows after years of over-plucking to get the "perfect thin" and sometimes my work/party balance is off. It's too much. Really. I'm done.
God calls me, as the old alter-call hymn says, just as I am. Broken. Wounded. Burdened. Thin browed. He takes it all and wraps me in a giant blanket of grace where I get to curl up in his arms and experience his love.
In this season of frivolity and celebration I am often tempted with the perfect sparkle and just the right amount of twinkle. I want the brass music to be loud and clear and the bells to be bright and clear. I want just the right sprinkling of glitter.
That wasn't how the season started though. It started thousands of years ago in a dirty stable with a teen mom. There were sheep and probably cows. It was less than ideal and I feel certain there were no icicle lights. It wasn't how a king should enter the world. It was smelly. It was broken. It was discouraging. It was full of grace.
God became man so that we might celebrate grace. He did it for the sick and the broken and the wounded. He did it for moms like me who get over stressed and drink too much wine and eat too much pie. He did it for the dad who stresses over finances and therefore works too many hours. He did it for the kids that can't sit still and for the grouchy old people that throw rocks at kids. (Okay, I've never actually seen that happen anywhere other than a Bugs Bunny cartoon. But it could happen. And grace would be there.)
The celebration comes from the gift of grace. The celebration is the grace. I'm grateful for the offering of grace.
It's a theory I've been wrestling with for quite some time. We live in a society that screams "Get it right!" every day. Your pie must be firm but soft and your home must be clean enough for health but with enough mess to make others comfortable. Your hair can not be gray and your eyebrows must be full...because thin eyebrows are soooo last year. Your parenting must be without flaws and your schedule must be the perfect balance of home, work, school, party,etc. Your children must be well behaved yet not robots and your spouse should always be supportive and have a twinkling gleam to his or her teeth when smiling.
All those things are lovely, although I now have to paint on eyebrows after years of over-plucking to get the "perfect thin" and sometimes my work/party balance is off. It's too much. Really. I'm done.
God calls me, as the old alter-call hymn says, just as I am. Broken. Wounded. Burdened. Thin browed. He takes it all and wraps me in a giant blanket of grace where I get to curl up in his arms and experience his love.
In this season of frivolity and celebration I am often tempted with the perfect sparkle and just the right amount of twinkle. I want the brass music to be loud and clear and the bells to be bright and clear. I want just the right sprinkling of glitter.
That wasn't how the season started though. It started thousands of years ago in a dirty stable with a teen mom. There were sheep and probably cows. It was less than ideal and I feel certain there were no icicle lights. It wasn't how a king should enter the world. It was smelly. It was broken. It was discouraging. It was full of grace.
God became man so that we might celebrate grace. He did it for the sick and the broken and the wounded. He did it for moms like me who get over stressed and drink too much wine and eat too much pie. He did it for the dad who stresses over finances and therefore works too many hours. He did it for the kids that can't sit still and for the grouchy old people that throw rocks at kids. (Okay, I've never actually seen that happen anywhere other than a Bugs Bunny cartoon. But it could happen. And grace would be there.)
The celebration comes from the gift of grace. The celebration is the grace. I'm grateful for the offering of grace.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)