Need a shower?

No thanks. I had a shower once when I was 11 years old, I don't need another one. Ever.

Grace isn't a one-time event either.

Scott and I are part of a newly formed small community group, and our first study is set to be Ephesians. I thought I'd start through a study book I have for Ephesians to help me prepare for the discussions we will (hopefully!) have. It's not an expensive book, not a Beth Moore book, just a little pocket-sized book that starts with a big chunk of Scripture on Day 1, then breaks it down into one or two verse study chunks for each of the rest of the days of the week, tying in the verses with other passages throughout the Bible. I got a fresh, clean journal for my birthday, and I thought it would be good to jot down the answers to the study questions and any other thoughts that came along. I was glad to have it Wednesday; I just kept writing and writing as the thoughts kept coming.

The study byte for the day was Ephesians 1:6-8. The study question was: "How is God's grace described here?"

Well? What's the answer? Dontcha know? :-) Okay, okay, I'll post the Scripture for you here.

to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. 7 In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace 8 that he lavished on us. With all wisdom and understanding,

Here's another version that sounds a little more like a self-contained byte:

So we praise God for the glorious grace he has poured out on us who belong to his dear Son.[b] 7 He is so rich in kindness and grace that he purchased our freedom with the blood of his Son and forgave our sins. 8 He has showered his kindness on us, along with all wisdom and understanding.

Those are some pretty amazing words.

Glorious: marked by great beauty or splendor. Delightful. Wonderful

Poured: to cause to flow in a stream; to supply or produce freely or copiously; to give full expression to.

Freely: of one's own accord; with freedom from external control; without restraint or reservation; without hindrance; not strictly following a model, convention, or rule.

Riches: things that make one rich

Lavished: expending or bestowing profusely. Expended or produced in abundance; marked by profusion or excess.

Showered: To rain or fall as if in a shower; to give in abundance.

Now go back and read the verses again, this time putting in the long definition of each word:

to the praise of his glorious [delightful, wonderful, marked by great beauty and splendor] grace, which he has freely [of his own accord, with freedom from external control, without restraint or reservation, without hindrance,not strictly following a model, convention, or rule] given us in the One he loves. 7 In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace 8 that he lavished[produced and expended in abundance, bestowing it freely, marked by profusion and excess] on us.

Overflowing. Excessive. Rich. Deep. Thick. Overabundant. Inexhaustible.

Like a hike. A particular hike.

You're hiking in the mountains and you somehow lost your way. What was to be a pleasant morning excursion has turned into a day-long tramp. You finished your water hours ago, and the only thing you have to keep hunger at bay is salty trail mix. With chocolate. That only makes you thirstier than you already were.
You try to make your way across the mountain; maybe you'll find the trail again. But you're so thirsty it feels like you've eaten the Sahara for lunch and wool socks for dessert.
After what seems like forever and a half, you find some water! Bad news is it's a barely discernible track of a few drops at a time, like the ones that form those tiny icicles on the slate hillsides in winter. You put out your tongue to corral a few drops, but there's so little water that your tongue can't even feel the dampness.

That's our idea of grace, I think. Yeah, it's there, we can see it, but we have to work for it. Really try hard. And when we see it, it's not really enough to change anything about us, so it's not really worth the hype and bother of it all.

Back to the hike. You're still lost, and your failed attempt to get some water has magnified your thirst about five million times. You shoulder your pack and start trudging on again.
The sun has been high overhead for way too long, beating down through the green canopy above, soaking you in rays of heat. You're soaked with something else, too: your own salty sweat as you hike across the mountain.
Then you hear a sound like a strong wind moving the trees. But there's no wind. Can it be true? You rush toward the noise, stumbling over roots and briers, till you come to a rocky gorge. You look up to the mouth of the gorge, and there it is.

A waterfall.

The sun sparkles from the falling droplets like it's a cascade of diamonds. And at that moment you would trade all the diamonds in the world for a drop of that clear water on your tongue. A mist hangs over the pool at the base of the falls, and you can see that the pool overflows into a very wide, very shallow stream. You hesitate only a moment, then start climbing over the rocks to get closer.
The closer you get, the higher the falls look. Close-up the water looks furious rather than friendly. You turn away to head downstream for a taste of the slightly muddier water in the stream, when suddenly something catches your eye.
The falls are roaring, pounding the rocks at the bottom, except in one spot. There a slanted rock ledge breaks the falling water into a gentle, pouring stream. It's just right.
So you stand there and look at it for a couple of years, right? You study it, maybe compose a song about it, get your notepad out of your backpack and start to write a book about it.

No. I don't think so.

You kick off your shoes and practically jump from rock to rock until you come to that ledge. You reach out your hand and the shock of the cold mountain water races up your arm and brings out goosebumps on your skin. You smile as you run your hand through the water. You cup your hands and drink; the water is more refreshing than you could have imagined: clear, but with the slightest hint of earthiness. You drink till you can't hold any more. But it's not enough.
You step forward into the water and feel it coursing down your head, your neck, soaking your clothes and cooling your tired feet. As the endless stream pours around you, you grin and revel in it.


And that is grace as God gives it.

So we praise God for the glorious grace he has poured out on us who belong to his dear Son.[b] 7 He is so rich in kindness and grace that he purchased our freedom with the blood of his Son and forgave our sins. 8 He has showered his kindness on us, along with all wisdom and understanding.

Happy moment

It started when I got out of class. My professor, who usually holds us 15 minutes over time (the "good to the last drop" philosophy, I suppose), let us out FIVE MINUTES early, for a net gain of 20 minutes! I packed up my pens (one blue, one purple), bagged up my notes, and joined the stream of students pouring out of the auditorium.

Stepping outside was a pleasant surprise. The morning's close dampness had entirely disappeared, and the air felt clean and fresh and about 10 degrees cooler than I had expected. I took a deep breath and started whistling.

As I walked through the park I noticed the leaves. The sugar maples overhanging the path were still green; like ladies pulling out gray hairs, the trees had dropped the early signs of autumn and the brick sidewalk was strewn with crimson-edged leaves. I stopped to take a picture for my cell phone wall paper.

My car was waiting faithfully for me in the parking garage, and there was no traffic as I pulled out onto the road. The light was green! I made it through. I rolled down my windows, relishing the cool, dry air after such a long and hot summer.

The next light caught me, but, just to make up for the wait, a peppy, bouncy song came on the radio. I turned up the volume.

The timing for the last light was perfect; it was too warm in my car to wear my sweater, but there were just enough cars ahead of me at the red light, waiting to turn right, that I was able to wriggle out of my cardigan before it was my turn to go.

When I got out on the highway it was wide open. No cars in sight. Cotton-batting clouds covered the sky, with just enough sunlight peeping through to turn the edges golden. My hair blew in the breeze. I was still singing along with the radio. I was thinking about not having class tomorrow, being a little ahead on my assignments, and forgetting (temporarily) about the midterm exam I had been worried about.

It was a Very Happy Moment.

When I came onto the interstate, the friendly cars scooted over to make room for me. We all drove together, moving in and out almost like a choreographed dance routine where some came on, some went off, but all kept moving.

"And I think to myself....what a wonderful world...."

I parked in the best parking place at the apartment, right next to the sidewalk. I walked into our nice new apartment, still pretty tidy from The Great Cleanup that took place last Saturday. Dinner's in the fridge, ready to be re-heated, the dishes are done for today, and I can have the evening off to spend time with my Scott when he gets home.

It's still a Very Happy Moment.

When I think about it, I could have more Very Happy Moments if I looked for them. Today there were so many Happy things I couldn't ignore them; how many do I miss on other days?

Let's look for Very Happy Moments... we might find them more often than we think.

Rachel VS The Evil Machine

Okay, Scott, I know you went to Mexico just to get out of mowing the lawn. But beware: next time, I shall be as wise as a serpent and pack your suitcase while you're still at work so when you get home you have time to mow the yard before you leave.

No, I guess my husband didn't flee the country to shirk lawn duty. But I felt like doing that very thing this afternoon as I grunted and hauled The Evil Machine around the yard. Mowing the yard is, of course, my third favorite outdoor activity. The first two are climbing razor wire fences and crawling over freshly broken glass.

All day long it haunted me; I knew I'd have to mow the yard when I got home. It's needed trimming for a couple of weeks, but what with a busy schedule and rainy days off, I have managed to procrastinate to this point. But as I drove to work this morning, I noted the dawn, bright and clear, and knew that the day had come.

But before I could get to the yard, I needed to get through my day at work. I had a pretty easy day of it, if you don't count the sore knees from standing so long. I was observing ortho (joint) surgeries today as part of my work orientation at the hospital. I think they require it for two reasons: 1.) to help the new graduate (me) better understand the processes that bring patients from the holding room, through the Operating Room to the PACU (recovery room, and finally, to the ortho wing of the hospital where I will be working. 2.) To help the new graduate (me) to see the gritty violence of joint surgeries so as to be more compassionate when the patients ask for pain medicine when I take care of them upstairs. I think my observations helped achieve both purposes. I watched a shoulder surgery and a bilateral knee replacement. Boy, that's rough stuff. I'm very thankful for Crawford Long and the other doctors who fought to popularize the use of anesthesia: there would be no elective (optional) surgeries without it, and I wouldn't have a job. The patient didn't feel anything, but it was amazing to see the doctor and his electric drills and saws and non-electric hammers and pegs. It's amazing to think that by undergoing this operation, a patient can be saved from crippling joint problems and go on to lead an active lifestyle again!

The OR people were really nice; it was the first surgery observation I did where the staff were so helpful. They explained things, and when my knees were getting sore from standing in one place so long, the nurse brought a chair in from the other room; I didn't even have to ask. And the CRNA (anesthesia guy) noticed that I was cold sitting there, and brought a blanket from the warmer for me! It was greatly appreciated, since street clothes like jackets aren't allowed in the OR. (and they keep it cold in there. Where do you think those "save the polar bears" people keep all those polar bears? And I could have sworn I saw a penguin on an ice floe...)

After watching the BTKA (knee surgery), I followed the patient to PACU to see what happens there (not much, today at least!). I got to sit down there, the whole time. Then it was time to go.

I delayed as much as possible. I got home, checked my e-mails, checked facebook, and exercised on our elliptical machine. I entered my day's exercise in the log book I've started to keep, then sighed. I couldn't wait any longer. Time to mow the yard.

I headed out the front door and was surprised to see a police car idling at the end of the driveway. I picked up a few sticks in the little grass patch in the front yard, then bent over to get a big stick out of the driveway.

WOOF!!! WOOF! WOOF!!! The flashing white teeth of a German Shepherd greeted me.

After I landed back inside my skin, I noticed the cooling unit that should have clued me in that it was a k-9 police car. Oh well. Thankfully there were only 30 people outside their houses to see the police happenings, so it's not like anyone could have seen me.

I trudged up the hill to get our lawnmower from where it is stored at a neighbor's house. The first thing I noticed was the noise: one of the wheels was making a horrible, rapid clicking noise. I couldn't tell why. So I just kept going.

I was half afraid I'd get arrested for stealing the lawnmower as I made my way down the street, past all those cop cars and the ambulance, but nothing happened. I was ready for the dog to bark at me this time. He did.

The right front wheel still wouldn't move; it was like there was a brake keeping it from rolling, but I couldn't figure out how to fix it. Then I couldn't get the mower to start. After permanently damaging a few tendons and possibly my entire rotator cuff, I had succeeded only in increasing the volume of my grunts as I attempted to start The Evil Machine. I sat back and thought. I had used it before, I reasoned, with no trouble starting it. So I went through the motions again. And again. And again. I think The Evil Machine sensed that I was about to give up, because on my "one last try," it purred to life like a malevolent beast. I thought I had won, but little did I know that The Evil Machine was only biding its time.

Mowing our yard should not be a big deal. It is a small yard, smaller than any other I've had. But the house is on a hill, so two sides of the yard are slanted. To make matters worse, there is a ditch (that has to be mowed) at the bottom of the yard. And the weeds were so tall and thick that the San Diego Zoo asked if they could use it as a model for their latest rain forest exhibit. (I told them no; I didn't want them to scare away the badak tampongs). Well. If trying to push The Evil Machine up a hill weren't bad enough, I had to force the beast (which weighs more than a third of my weight!!) up the hill, with one of the front wheels locked. The whole time. After repeating this twice, I got smart and started pulling the lawnmower behind me instead of pushing it. This worked well till we hit a big patch of weeds and the mower stalled. I took it back to level ground and started it again, continuing on my merry way, pushing The Evil Machine down hill and dragging it up behind me again.

Then it died. And I couldn't start it again.

I turned it over on its ill-natured back. I heard it glug-glug-glugging in protest. I refused to listen to its pleas, and I found the source of one problem. There was a clump of grass stuck in the bottom of the mower. Only one. But it covered the whole bottom of the mower, miring the blades in fresh and not-so-fresh grass clippings. The hole that's supposed to allow the clipping to pass out was stuffed full. So I spent a few minutes digging to free the mower blades,hurling the gigantic clumps over to the fence. It would have been easier to throw them in the neighbor's yard, but I didn't.

I thought that with the indigestion problem solved, The Evil Machine would renounce its former ways and reform. It didn't.

After grunting, shoving, dragging, and heaving that mower all over the backyard, it was finally finished. On to the front.

The front yard is about the size of a large bathroom. It would be easy to mow except for the aforementioned hill, which is even steeper in the front, and a giant poplar tree (liriodendron tulipifera) whose roots stand a significant obstacle to even the most kindly and obliging of lawnmowers that have 4 rolling wheels. So in stark contrast to the recommended and professional way of mowing, with long, smooth rows, I hacked at the grass with The Evil Machine, going back and forth and back and forth. The police cars were leaving now, going down to the end of the road to a wide place to turn around. The ambulance, however, lingered, no doubt sure that I would need their services after The Evil Machine turned on me and chewed my leg for a while.

I kept a tight rein on the beast, however, and the ambulance was able to leave empty-handed.

Then I had to push the thing back up the road to the neighbor's house. The wheel started working again, just to show me there was nothing really wrong with it and it had been uncooperative out of pure spite. I could have sworn the thing was laughing as I finally took it back to its bed. I had to tuck it in, pulling its plywood blanket back over its head, but I refused to kiss it goodnight.

So now it's over, for another week anyway. I wonder how much a self-propelled mower would cost. Oh, I have an even better idea.

A SCOTT-propelled mower.

On the mountain of the Lord it will be provided

I decided to take up my chronological read-through-the-Bible-in-a-year book again. Cover to Cover is a good guide to go through all 66 books in the order the events unfold. When I was on Logos II the first time we all went through it, and I learned even through books like Leviticus and Chronicles (they're all there for a reason!).

I was reading Genesis 22 a couple of days ago, where God called Abraham to sacrifice his son. Not just to give him up or send him away, but to burn him as an offering. God didn't even tell Abraham where to go; he only said, "on one of the mountains, which I will show you." Wow.

Abraham took his servants and his son and set off on the journey, not knowing how long it would take, or what kind of terrain they would have to cross. God did show him the mountain. Abraham laid his son on the altar. And God stepped in, stopped the sacrifice, and provided a ram to sacrifice instead.



There were several things that interested me in the story; first, the importance of setting an example of individual worship for your children.

Isaac knew from watching his father through the years what was required for worship: the fire and knife, wood, and a lamb for sacrifice. He saw his father had the first two elements, he had the third, but the lamb was missing, so he asked Abraham, who famously replied, "God will provide himself a lamb..."

Growing up, I saw my father's worship every day. He would get up early, do some calisthenics, then settle down at the table with his Bible. He would pray for what seemed like forever to my childish eyes, then he'd open up the Scriptures while he ate breakfast. Every day. He got up early to worship every day. His godly example was pressed on my mind from an early age, just as Abraham's worship influenced his son Isaac. It is important to cultivate that individual relationship of worship with God because the next generation is not going to just take our word for it; they have to see us consistently live out our worship through the months and years.

The other thing I noticed was that God didn't just have a general mountain that everyone knew was the place to worship, and you'd go and give whatever you wanted to God. No. God had in mind a specific journey to that one altar and a specific command of sacrifice: "Take your son, your only son—yes, Isaac, whom you love so much...Go and sacrifice him as a burnt offering."

God does the same thing today.

In the church, we talk a lot.
"Give up your life to the Lord."
"Just surrender everything."
"Come and lay it all on the altar."

They can be as comforting as they are challenging, as long as we keep them in generalities. "Oh, yes, take it all, Lord."

But then, if we really listen to Him, He has this habit of making it uncomfortably personal. And specific. He says, "I don't just want your general 'everything.' I want that one place, that specific desire, that you're holding back. You're using the phrase, 'I'm giving it all' as a screen to keep from seeing that there is a place where you don't want me; to keep me from getting too close and invading that area of your life. I want you to be my friend, as Abraham was my friend, but first you have to come to that mountain, the one I will show you, and give up what you love."

But God didn't show Abraham the mountain from where he was camped. Abraham had to commit to the journey. He had to step out and begin, showing his commitment by leaving his home. And I think it's the same way for us. We have to set out by actively seeking God, spending time listening, probing our hearts for the direction that God might want to take us, seeing strongholds and asking, "Is this the mountain?"

After God provided a ram to sacrifice, it became a proverb in the land, "On the mountain of the Lord it will be provided." And God still promises us his provision: Grace, mercy, strength in time of need. But it will not be provided until we come to the mountain, prepared to sacrifice.

So, these have been my thoughts. I wanted to write a song about it, but it didn't work. It ended up being a poem, and a rather long poem at that. And it didn't use the phrase I liked and wanted to use, so it will just be the title, the same as the title for this blog.
~~~~
The word of God came to Abraham
and cut him to the heart.
"Bring your son, your only son,
to the place I've set apart.
Bring him to my mountain,
the one I'll show to you.
There burn him as an offering."
Could this command be true?

At the mountain they left their servants
and the two went on alone.
Abram's heart was as heavy
as the altar made of stone.
Isaac's question broke the silence
he saw the wood, fire, and knife...
But he didn't know the sacrifice
was to give up his own life.

At the mountain's top they laid aside
the burdens they had brought,
and Abraham told his son
the commandment of their God.
The tears rolled down his cheeks unchecked
as he tied up his dear boy
He placed him on the altar there,
his whole life's pride and joy.

He raised the knife, poised to strike,
but the angel stayed his hand,
And God's friend Abraham received
his son, as though from the dead.
Their spirits soared as they rejoiced
when a sound turned Abraham's head:
He looked up--there on the mountain,
God provided himself a lamb.

On another mountain, Calvary,
God gave another Lamb,
And salvation full and free,
if I come just as I am
To the mountain that he shows to me
where I must take the knife
And kill the selfish part that tries
to order my own life.

I must lay on the altar
all I hold most dear:
My thoughts and dreams and passions,
hopes and plans and fears.
I must burn them on the mountain
and through the ashes see
That through God's Lamb is given grace
for all my deepest needs.

But though Abram left the mountain,
nevermore there to return,
I find each day so many things
to sacrifice, to burn.

But God calls from the mountain,
his voice pleads with my heart,
"Lay down the foolish pride and self
that's keeping us apart.
Come back now to the mountain,
you know I'll meet you here.
Come back and give yourself to me;
let my love cast out fear."

So I'm headed for the mountain
with my fire and knife
Knowing the way to be with God
is to let him have my life.
To give him every part of me
is what I long to do
I'm going to the mountain.
Now the question is: will you?