The Fullness of Time

“In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace, which he lavished upon us, in all wisdom and insight making known to us the mystery of his will, according to his purpose, which he set forth in Christ as a plan for the fullness of time, to unite all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth.”
Ephesians 1:7-10

When I was a young boy, my family would spend about every third Sunday afternoon driving to a nearby town to visit some of our older relatives. While the drive was only a bit more than an hour, to a young boy of seven, time in the car seemed to drag on in slow motion.

The farm fields flashing past on the way held then familiar land marks: the crooked oak tree on US Route 150 that bent into the west wind was the signal that coming in the next 10 minutes was the rusting Ford Ferguson tractor left in an overgrown pasture, weeds growing into its now silent engine. Next would come the peeling seed-corn ads on the sun-worn side of a barn shouting the merits of Funk’s G Hybrid (“It’s golden!”)

My three older brothers rode in the back seat of my parent’s black Pontiac Bonneville, and I sat up front between my parents.

Time, it seemed, felt agonizingly. . . endless.

After finding the end of my patience too soon, I remember leaning my head against my dad in despair and asking a well-worn question:

“Dad . . . how much longer?”

Driving with one hand, he’d pat my leg with the other and reply,

“Almost there, son . . . not much longer now.”

Sound familiar? What goes through your mind as you wait?

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Exchanged

I stand on cliffs with rocky points and wind
To lean against the rain, the stinging lash.
Great waves, whose roaring tauntings never end,
Reach up and turn my thorny torch to ash.

With darkness wrapping ’round, I scan the storm
To beg a sign, just one, of coming day.
A whisper draws aside my rain-clad form.
It breaks above the gloom and rainy fray.

It points to unexpected lanterns, bright,
The sea and cliffs and cloud cannot reduce.
My quest reframes within against the night,
Moored down by weight of hope without excuse.

Across the hopeless sky the truth’s made known:
The Lighthouse pierces through: “You’re not alone.”

Autumn Light

Fleeting sun, departing friend,
Who calls to you, our joy to end?
Who beckons your redeeming rays
To other lands with longer days?

Did I despise your brightening hues,
Or seek another’s love to choose?
I cannot think what’s caused this rift
Between our ways. (The shadows shift.)

Your silken train of golden hair
Slips past my steps, my garden chair.
Departing glance. . . your back is all
Can see my face, return my call:

Forsake this way, time’s mystery.
Return to stay and shine on me.

On the way to Shur

“The angel of the Lord found her by a spring of water in the wilderness, the spring on the way to Shur. And he said, ‘Hagar, servant of Sarai, where have you come from and where are you going?’”
Genesis 16:7-8a

Seldom appearing in the lists of biblical heroes, Hagar and her story give me hope and a reminder.

Born in Egypt, Hagar finds herself hundreds of miles from anything familiar as a house servant to a Hebrew woman who cannot bear children. The woman’s husband has been promised by God that all of humanity will be blessed through his offspring, and it is between this promise and the couple’s doubts that Hagar’s destiny is defined. She becomes a man-made solution to a God-sized challenge. Unknowingly, she moves from obscurity to history’s center stage.

. . . and it’s showtime.

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Dangerous Illusions

“And she said, “As the LORD your God lives, I have nothing baked, only a handful of flour in a jar and a little oil in a jug. And now I am gathering a couple of sticks that I may go in and prepare it for myself and my son, that we may eat it and die.” 1 Kings 17:12

When I was young, I was fascinated with optical illusions: Escher’s pair of hands that seem to be drawing themselves, climbing up the Penrose staircase that ends at the bottom, or the Impossible Trident…(does it have three prongs or two?)

I remember staring at these illustrations until my eyes ached trying to find a way to resolve the dissonant questions within.

But I never could.

The drawings were mysterious illusions . . . questions without answers.

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Good Questions

“Can you bind the chains of the Pleiades or loose the cords of Orion? Can you lead forth the Mazzaroth in their season, or can you guide the Bear with its children? Do you know the ordinances of the heavens? Can you establish their rule on the earth?” Job 38:31-33

God’s questions to the broken man, Job, are deep and daunting.

There is a unique mixture of compassion and correction in their tone as God seeks to update Job’s understanding of who He is by taking him to the end of his knowledge.

But I am grateful for that.

As my three sons near and step into manhood, I have had more and more opportunities to talk with them about those steps and what they mean.

More often than not, these conversations begin with great questions, too. But as time has gone by, the questions have changed and ended, recently, with a Job-like surprise. Here’s what I mean…

When the boys were just little guys, their questions were direct and easy.

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Making and remaking

“Blessed is the man who makes the Lord his trust, who does not turn to the proud, to those who go astray after a lie!” Psalms 40:4

On February 5, 1976, Franz Klammer created an international sensation skiing the men’s Olympic downhill in 1:45.73 seconds. He skied like no one before him. He averaged about 64 miles per hour over silky powder in the crisp air of the Austrian Alps. He earned a gold medal and a top spot in Olympic history.

Whenever I think of the Winter Olympics, I think of Alpine skiing and the men’s downhill. I think of people like Franz Klammer and a unique behavior that sharpens champion skiers. Simply, it is this:

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Against them.

“And when evening came, the boat was out on the sea, and he was alone on the land. And he saw that they were making headway painfully, for the wind was against them . . .” Mark 6: 47-48a

I have a deep respect for storms.

Living in the Midwest, I have nurtured a wariness for weather’s fury: the power of sudden, golf-ball sized hail in a summer thunderstorm, the screaming wind that announces the arrival of an F-4 tornado overhead, the smothering white-out of a winter blizzard rolling over the the frozen prairie land of Illinois . . . mountains of powdery, dry snow . . . and the deafening silence after.

Storms have a way of commanding our attention. Sometimes, too much.

Read the story of Jesus walking on water in the middle of a huge storm, and see this picture: the night’s blackness, the pitching waves in the Sea of Galilee, the growing unease with what may be coming, the small group of men in an open fishing boat terrified of it all.

But focus too much on the storm, and we can miss one of those, ” wait a minute. . . ” moments that signal something . . . astonishing.

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Gift exchange

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” John 14:27

This Christmas, how will you be involved in the giving and getting of gifts? From ancient times, gift-giving has been associated with many holidays at the turn of the year, and the wise men who visited Jesus at his birth were leaders for us in the practice.

For the most part, gift-giving is a happy and joyful experience. But, have you ever had a less-than-joyful experience with gifts?

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True ways

“Now this I say and testify in the Lord, . . . put off your old self. . . . and be renewed in the spirit of your minds . . . “Ephesians 4:17-24

When I was a young student, every class day would begin with our reciting the United States’ Pledge of Allegiance. We said it every day, and then we’d sing a patriotic hymn of our teacher’s choosing.

The words we spoke or sung fell easily from our lips, because we had said or sung them over and over again . . . for years.

We were learning what it meant to be an American.

But it wasn’t always that way. Continue reading “True ways” →