Webs

Some people are horrified by spiders. They get the willies just THINKING about them. Sorry if I gave all of you the shivers. Some of my dearest friends are arachnophobes.

Other people are captivated and even awed by spiders. They study their eating habits, their web-making styles, and their impact on the earth’s eco system. They even create international academic clubs dedicated to photographing, studying, and writing about these arthropods.

I am not really afraid of the eight-legged invertebrates. I even admit to a minor fascination with them. But when I step off of my front porch at night and walk right into a spider’s web, the glory of it all is lost. A primal instinct kicks into gear. My arms start flinging wildly in the air. My body shivers all over. And some kind of hideous, guttural scream blerts out from somewhere deep in my gut. At that particular moment, it doesn’t matter that I have pondered the delicate beauty of dew droplets on a writing spider’s morning web. When I get a face full of spider web, the only thoughts I have are that the blasted creature might be running amok in my hair.

Some things can be glorious and wonderful when they are studied and appreciated in their academic splendor. But when they ambush us head-on, reflexes take over. I think relationships can be like that sometimes.

There are some relationships that are enticing. They draw us in with their color and artistry. They call to us with words that are flattering. They even meet our needs . . . they satisfy us . . . on an academic or an artistic or an emotional level. But they are dangerous. They weave a web that is patient and translucent. But they will not bring blessing and goodness to our lives, because their truth violates God’s Truth.

It is in foggy, trying, faith-stretching times that these relationships can totally bushwhack us. When we dare to step through the door of faith and walk confidently . . . even unsuspectingly . . . into unseen territory, the hidden webs of unhealthy friendships nab us. The very things that were beautiful and stimulating at daybreak become insidious and hard to disentangle from in the dusk. They counsel us with proverbs that are not God’s. They lure us into faithless acts with lovely, compelling arguments. Then they plaster us in the face with their sticky strands and send us convulsing into the dark.

God’s Word is trustworthy and true in its counsel. A wise person pays close attention to His advice. There are many scriptures that deal with relationships.

. . . a man of too many friends comes to ruin . . . do not be deceived: "Bad company corrupts good morals . . .

We should avoid spider-web relationships. And we should give the people that weave them a healthy, wise berth. Simply see them, give them a friendly nod, and walk the other way.

May we have the spiritual eyes to see every spider web . . . even at dusk.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Not Trite

Trite means: boring from much use; lacking in freshness and individuality; exhausted of interest

Sometimes I grow weary of trite things. Trite songs. Trite sentiments. Trite opinions. The imagery they draw of the Christian life is so monochrome.

For example, I prefer real sunrises to their romanticized, cinematic versions. Have you see a real sunrise lately? Even beautiful photographs can’t compare to the drama and glory of the real thing. You can actually feel the air begin to wake up as the early dawn warms from black to purple to red. And when the blazing sun majestically breaks over the horizon, you can almost hear yellow rays splashing onto the cool morning earth.

There are so many things in real living that are much grander than their hackneyed caricatures. Love has more texture and depth than its threadbare stylization. Real marriages are much fuller than novelized ones. Parenting is much more heroic than its fluffy, greeting card imagery. And genuine faith . . . true, stepping-into-the-heart-of-God-with-no-safety-net kind of believing . . . requires much, much more courage than wearing a WWJD bracelet.

I think triteness smothers the breath and even threatens to silence the very heartbeat of real, God-inspired living. When we buy the sentimentalized, merchandized versions of life, then real Life dies. And the only living that is left is fragile and shallow and dull.

I have a great affinity for genuine things. Real failures. Real triumphs. Real journeys. I find tremendous nourishment in hearing the stories real people tell of real struggles and real victories. Harry Gilreath, my dear friend Sheila’s father, is one of my favorite story tellers. I love to listen to him regale the adventures of his Appalachian upbringing. I actually feel a little sorry for those who haven’t spent an evening reminiscing with Harry. They’ve really missed something.

Here are some antonyms of trite:

animating, energizing, enlivening, exciting, galvanizing, invigorating, stimulating; absorbing, engaging, engrossing, gripping, interesting, intriguing, involving, atypical, extraordinary, uncommon, unusual, fresh, new, original

I think we should be these things. Step out of all the “Christian” boxes. Throw out the plastic-action-figure version of trite Christianity and truly Live. Real life can be gritty. It has unexpected bumps and turns. Sometimes it is downright messy. But it is so much better than empty platitudes. I think we should be anti triteness.

The Bible is not trite at all. Its stories are epic. Its language is vivid and rich.

Here’s what Jesus says:

"And he who does not take his cross and follow after Me is not worthy of Me. He who has found his life will lose it, and he who has lost his life for My sake will find it.
Matt 10:38-39 (NASB)

Here’s what the author of Hebrews says:

Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith . . .
Heb 12:1-2 (NASB)

Here’s the psalmist’s proclamation:

Praise the LORD!
I will give thanks to the LORD with all my heart,
In the company of the upright and in the assembly.
Great are the works of the LORD;
They are studied by all who delight in them.
Splendid and majestic is His work,
And His righteousness endures forever.
He has made His wonders to be remembered;
The LORD is gracious and compassionate.
Psalms 111:1-6 (NASB)

These are bold words. Active words. Challenging us to believe that life with God is more than we can see or understand with narrow selfishness. They call us to go further, reach higher, and live a life fuller than trite platitudes. They speak of real blessing and real glory. They draw us into expansive praise and worship of a God who is awesome and very real.

We should live like that.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Great is His Faithfulness

Sometimes a bit of asceticism is good. Sometimes it is good to brush away the excesses of our days and spend some time gratefully living in the essentials. With the rocky economy bringing price increases and wage decreases, many of us may soon be living more simply as a matter of necessity. But as my years of living with the Lord continue to pile one on top of another, I have begun to see a pattern in the heart of God concerning sparseness and abundance: there is no leanness in my Father.

Merriam-Webster online dictionary defines leanness as follows:
1. lacking or deficient in flesh: containing little or no fat
2. lacking richness, sufficiency, or productiveness
3. deficient in an essential or important quality or ingredient

I am not saying that I have never seen difficult circumstances in my life. There have been times when the Reid household has lived very sparsely. My heart has anguished through searing, deep sorrow. I have mourned through seasons in my life when despair or fear or loneliness were familiar companions. I have lost loved ones. And I have lost dreams. But I have never found any leanness in my Father.

Even now, as I try to craft the words to describe the lavishly loving nature of my Heavenly Father, I can’t seem to find words that are deep enough . . . large enough . . . rich enough . . . true enough. However, there is one constant testimony that threads itself intricately through the tapestry of my life. It is the genesis of true purpose for me. It is the glory and the crown of my celebrations and my victories. It is the bedrock of my solace in difficulty and darkness. And it will be, I am quite sure, the benediction of my heart when I breathe my final breath.

God is faithful.

Thomas Chisholm wrote a song in 1923 that beautifully illuminates this truth. He claims that the hymn wasn’t born out of any dramatic life event. It was just the result of a daily relationship with the creator of the universe. The most remarkable attribute of Chisholm’s biography is its unremarkableness.

Thomas Obadiah Chisholm was born in a log cabin on July 29, 1866, in Franklin, Kentucky. He attended elementary school in a small country schoolhouse. At the age of 16, without receiving any high school or college training, he began to teach in that same country school. By 1887, Chisholm was working as the associate editor of his hometown newspaper.

Chisholm accepted Christ as his personal Savior when he was 27 years old during a revival meeting in Franklin. He served as the editor and business manager of a Christian publication until his ordination as a Methodist minister. Chisholm’s failing health, however, limited his pastoral work to only one year, and by 1909 he had become an insurance agent. After retiring in 1953, Chisholm spent his remaining years at the Methodist Home for the Aged, in Ocean Grove, New Jersey.

As I researched the life and accomplishments of Thomas Obadiah Chisholm, I ran across something he said that resonated in my soul. It was written in a letter dated 1941:

“My income has not been large at any time due to impaired health in the earlier years which has followed me until now, although I must not fail to record the unfailing faithfulness of a covenant-keeping God, for which I am filled with astonishing gratefulness.”

God is faithful. Simple, rich, profound. No leanness.

Reverend William M. Runyan, a musician associated with the Moody Bible Institute, wrote the music to Chisholm’s poem, “Great is Thy Faithfulness.” About the poem, Runyan said, “This particular poem held such an appeal that I prayed most earnestly that my tune might carry its message in a worthy way, and the subsequent history of its use indicates that God answered prayer.”

Here are the words to the Thomas Obadiah Chisholm’s hymn.

Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father;
There is no shadow of turning with Thee;
Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not;
As Thou hast been, Thou forever will be.

Summer and winter and springtime and harvest,
Sun, moon and stars in their courses above
Join with all nature in manifold witness
To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

Great is Thy faithfulness!
Great is Thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see.
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided;
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Walking

Sometimes we need to waltz past the obvious. We simply need to say, “Excuse me, could you step aside, please? I have better things to do today than to dance with the blatant.”

The stock market is in bad shape.
This is an extremely important presidential election and everyone should vote.
Life is really hard sometimes.

There. State the obvious. Then move on. No sense dancing with it, worrying about it, or letting it ruin your perspective.

Walking is excellent for obviating the obvious. Striding through your neighborhood or hiking across hidden trails or wandering through a Kirkhaven field is simply good for you. Nothing bolsters the constitution like a great trek. And rambling slowly is best. Take your time, feel the breeze, listen to the birds, and stop to study every flower near your path. Or if you feel really daring, take a tramp at night under the stars.

Yes, I know that a brisk jaunt may be better for your health than a dallying stroll. I understand the rules of “heart-healthy” living. But what about your soul?

I think we should traipse often. Without an agenda. Without a schedule. Be extravagant. During these trying times when we must hurry and save and be careful and act responsibly, I believe we should waste something. Just carelessly throw our sensibilities to the wind and go on a long, slow walk.

These are difficult days. That is truly obvious.
But the Lord is faithful. That is obvious Truth.

The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside quiet waters.
He restores my soul;
He guides me in the paths of righteousness For His name's sake.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I fear no evil, for You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You have anointed my head with oil;
My cup overflows.
Surely goodness and lovingkindness will follow me all the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever .
Psalms 23:1-6 (NASB)

Perhaps life itself should be an ambling meander with the Shepherd.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Emptiness

There is something very poignant about empty things. They are so still and quiet. I haven’t always loved them.

When I was younger, I believed that empty things should be filled. Empty calendars were filled with plans. Empty days were filled with activities. Empty moments were filled with conversations or music or a barrage of thoughts. Emptiness was valued only in its potential to become full.

But empty things can be very beautiful. It is in their emptiness that the true artistry of their creation can be seen. The lovely curves of a vacant bench. The rich hues of an unused pot. The intricate craftsmanship of an early autumn bird’s nest. They are beautiful, standing there alone, just as they are.

My life has been in a season of emptying lately. Emptying household . . . my children no longer live at home. Emptying dreams . . . some things just haven’t panned out.

Seasons of emptying can come even in the midst of fullness. My life is wonderful. I have been married to my best friend for nearly 25 years. I have rich, deep friendships. My home is comfortable and warm. My church family is incredibly dear. Nonetheless, emptying has come.

There are many things that can tip the handle of our lives and begin the process of emptying. Grief. Disappointment. Failure. Fear. Exhaustion. Everyone goes through emptyings from time to time. I am beginning to think they are necessary. If you haven’t been through one yet, my blogging friends, you will. Emptying reveals what you were full of . . . for better or for worse. It proves your mettle. It can be a prelude to depression and despondency. Or it can be a cleansing.

There is a simple elegance in this new emptiness of mine. My faith has marched through all the mire and clutter of sorrow, pain, and questioning to find itself stronger. Unembellished. Deeper. It is like being emptied of everything but Him.

Alone, except for the enfolding warmth of His presence.
Silent, except for the quiet whispering of His Grace.
Still, except for the stirring of His Word in my soul.

In the same way that a beach is empty at tide’s lowest ebb, I expect the tide to turn and bring fullness again. Perhaps prodigals will come home. Perhaps grandchildren will be born. Clatter will probably fill my days again. I will see new plantings and new rain and new crops for my soul. Benches are meant to be occupied. Vessels are meant to be full. And birds’s nests, after the cold winds of winter, are meant to be rebuilt and filled with precious eggs.

I am learning to treasure this season of emptiness because I have hope. And I am learning to celebrate in it. Not just "bear it until it is over." Celebrate in it. Gloriously, wonderfully celebrate that the God who fills and blesses also loves an empty vessel like me.

I know the Hand that fills. It is a strong Hand. A gracious Hand. It steadies my empty vessel in its time of weakness. And this loving Hand will fill my vessel again. I wait to see what this filling will be.

I wait for the LORD, my soul does wait, And in His word do I hope.
Psalms 130:5 (NASB)

“For My thoughts are not your thoughts, Nor are your ways My ways," declares the LORD.
“For as the heavens are higher than the earth, So are My ways higher than your ways And My thoughts than your thoughts.
For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, And do not return there without watering the earth And making it bear and sprout, And furnishing seed to the sower and bread to the eater;
So will My word be which goes forth from My mouth; It will not return to Me empty, Without accomplishing what I desire, And without succeeding in the matter for which I sent it.”
Isaiah 55:8-11 (NASB)

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid