Being Shushed: Psalm 103

Bless the Lord, O my soul,

And all that is within me, bless His holy name.

Bless the Lord, O my soul,

And forget none of His benefits;

I heard the hammering and sawing before I saw the carpenters.  It is the rhythmical noise of things being made.  Built.  Like a song . . . the percussion of hammer and spinning blade on wood . . . the melody of measurements being communicated from the top of the ladder down to the man at the saw . . . the harmony of intermittent laughter as craftsmen enjoy their work.  People will live in this house one day.  Perhaps babies will be born.  Children might climb trees in the wooded back yard.  Maybe an aging couple will sit on the deck and look toward my East Tennessee ridges and find peace, solace, inspiration, rest.  Building is in the heart and soul of our family.  I love to walk down to the job site and just listen.  And watch.

Who pardons all your iniquities,

Who heals all your diseases;

Who redeems your life from the pit,

Who crowns you with lovingkindness and compassion;

Who satisfies your years with good things,

So that your youth is renewed like the eagle.

The hands of carpenters always fascinate me.  Rough, strong hands.  Cracked and dry from overexposure to the weather.  Often with fresh cuts next to faded, old scars.  They tell a story of hard work, dreams, artistry and skill earned through diligence and patience.  Hands that serve by giving things . . . things that become hidden from view or overlooked through familiarity or simply used without thought of the hands that made them. 

The Lord performs righteous deeds

And judgments for all who are oppressed.

He made known His ways to Moses,

His acts to the sons of Israel.

The Lord is compassionate and gracious,

Slow to anger and abounding in lovingkindness.

He will not always strive with us,

Nor will He keep His anger forever.

He has not dealt with us according to our sins,

Nor rewarded us according to our iniquities.

For as high as the heavens are above the earth,

 So great is His lovingkindness toward those who fear Him.

As far as the east is from the west,

So far has He removed our transgressions from us.

It is deeply satisfying to live by the work of your own hands.  To dream and to create.  And at the end of the day, when everything has been cleaned up and put away, to see the progress that was made.   As I contemplate this holiday season that begins with the bounty and the warmth of Thanksgiving, it isn’t benefits or blessings that keep coming to my mind.  It is hands.  Father’s Hands.

Just as a father has compassion on his children,

So the Lord has compassion on those who fear Him.

For He Himself knows our frame;

He is mindful that we are but dust.
As for man, his days are like grass;

As a flower of the field, so he flourishes.

When the wind has passed over it, it is no more,

And its place acknowledges it no longer.

But the lovingkindness of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear Him,

And His righteousness to children's children,

To those who keep His covenant

And remember His precepts to do them.

There are so many good things in my life that I cannot even begin to count them. 

But in all of the blessings . . .

And all the sweetness . . .

And even in the difficulties . . .

And especially in the sorrows . . .

It has been the Giver, not the gifts, that causes my heart to rejoice in grateful praise.

To walk hand-in-hand with the Creator of the universe . . .

And watch His handiwork . . .

And see His dreams being built . . .

And dream along with Him . . .

That is what I am thankful for this Thanksgiving.

To live in and with and by the Work of His Hands is a great and glorious blessing.

But to see and feel my tiny hand engulfed in His . . .

to simply be His . . .

that is the greatest blessing of all.

The Lord has established His throne in the heavens,

And His sovereignty rules over all.

Bless the Lord, you His angels,

Mighty in strength, who perform His word,

Obeying the voice of His word!

Bless the Lord, all you His hosts,

You who serve Him, doing His will.

Bless the Lord, all you works of His,

In all places of His dominion;

Bless the Lord,

O my soul!

May your Thanksgiving be filled with Him.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid 

Being Shushed: Revelations and Resolutions

When I got up this morning, the simple rhythm of my day unfolded with dependable routine . . . taking the poodles outside for their morning “potty walk” . . . chatting with my husband in his office about his current Bible study . . . taking my vitamins . . . pouring a cup of hot apple cider . . . putting some bread in the toaster . . . It was all so typical. So familiar. So comfortable.

Then as I began to open a jar of peach preserves, an image of my grandmother wandered into my mind. She was sitting on the front porch of her white farmhouse in the cool shade of a warm summer afternoon. I could hear a crisp snap . . . snap . . . snap . . . as her small, strong, wrinkled hands filled the large bowl in her lap with a pile of green beans for tomorrow’s Sunday dinner. I could see her snow-white hair neatly swirled into a tight bun, her old-fashioned black shoes perfectly laced, and her work apron spread generously over her stockinged knees. And I could almost feel the warm summer breeze wafting across Uncle Charles’s verdant cow pasture across the front yard.

Granmaw was thinking and I could see by the determination in her eyes that she had made a decision. “I’m of a mind to walk down to that house and set him straight,” she said in her clear, frail, determined voice. I knew she was talking about the hired hand that lived at the lower end of the dairy farm. Way back in the far pasture, past the chicken coop, down the hill from the milking barn. Granmaw kept a keen eye on this man’s children . . . their grooming, their behavior, the look of their cheeks . . . and she had decided that this man needed to tend to his household with a bit more diligence. Once Granmaw was “of a mind” to do something, she always did it.

As the nostalgic scene melted into a fog of pleasant memories, the still, quiet voice of the Holy Spirit gently guided me back into the realm of today. “What are you of a mind to do, dear?” He asked me simply.

The question hung in the air like fog hovering over the Smoky Mountain vista outside my kitchen window. Not challenging. Not demanding. Not even with a sense of exhortation. It was just a simple inquiry. So alone, in the solitude of my morning kitchen, I quieted my soul to see if I could find an answer. What was I of a mind to do?

Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus . . . something Paul had said in one of his letters. (I found it later in Philippians chapter 2). I began to think that I was of a mind to do exactly what the Lord wanted me to do. But THAT . . . I full-well knew . . . was a loaded proposition.

I have heard so much bluster lately about the necessity of walking in the Grace of God. Legalism is touted as an extreme evil. Getting a deeper revelation of what God has already done for believers seems to be the latest craze. But lost in all that condemnation and revelation is my immediate necessity to see God and follow Him right now . . . right here . . . with what I already understand . . . through the circumstances that I face at this very moment. For sure I need to know Him more. For sure I need to grow in my maturity to manifest His character and His love. But there in my kitchen this morning, before the busyness of my day had an opportunity to start dictating my schedule, my life seemed to be clarified and invigorated by a calm, quiet, simple question:

“What are you of a mind to do, dear?”

Then I began to see why He was asking.

In the same way I had experienced the memory of Grandmaw on her front porch, I began to see the difficulties that have been crowding into my life . . . even the really hard things that have come just this past week. They lined up in perfect formation . . . one-by-one in my thoughts . . . like starched, polished soldiers ready for inspection. It was all very real. I began to feel the pain. Sorrow swelled and spilled into unsure places of my heart. Fear slinked darkly around the corners of unspoken doubts. Very much my life. And very much now.

“What are you of a mind to do, dear?” the Holy Spirit asked again . . . simply and quietly.

All I could think of was a simple answer.
“What are You of a mind to do, Lord?”
Nothing else came to mind. I knew I was answering a question with a question, but that was all I had.

Then I waited.
And listened.

In my younger years I would have answered His question differently. There would be a number of things I would be of a mind to do. I would quote scripture. I would pray. I would march onto the battlefield of sickness, sorrow, injustice, and fear with a sword in my hand, a hollerin’ war-cry on my lips, and fire in my heart . . . warring my way through to God’s glorious victory in every circumstance.

But I am of a mind to do things differently these days.
I am of a mind to be of His mind.
No matter what that looks like.

For thus the Lord GOD, the Holy One of Israel, has said,

"In repentance and rest you will be saved,

In quietness and trust is your strength."

But you were not willing,

And you said, "No, for we will flee on horses,"

Therefore you shall flee!

"And we will ride on swift horses,

" Therefore those who pursue you shall be swift.

Isaiah 30:15-16 (NASB).

It has become very clear to me that what I am of a mind to do . . . is exactly what I will do.
My disposition, my thought processes, my opinions, and my personal resolve pretty much dictate my actions. And my actions pretty much reflect whom I trust
. . . whom I worship
. . . who I imitate.

So I have begun to take Isaiah 30:15-16 to heart.
And to mind.
And even to . . . disposition.
Here is what I see. It may seem overly simplified, but elegant simplicity is often what is needed in difficult, heart-rending circumstances.

I am of a mind to be:
repentant . . . to the point that change really happens
at rest . . . from striving and from strife
quieted . . . from complaining or boasting or justifying or speculating
trusting . . . in God alone
. . . at the expense of personal pride
. . . allowing no situation, no philosophy, and no relationship to broker my faith.

In repentance and rest is my salvation.
In quietness and trust is my strength.
I will leave the swift horses for those who need them.
I just need the Lord.

I am of a mind to believe the Lord.
To allow Him full reign in every nook and cranny and situation of my life.
To be changed by the Truth of Who He is and what He wants.

I am of a mind to be still . . . and know . . . that He is God.
Psalm 46:10

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Being Shushed: Un-muddling Truth

The Shushed Life Part 3: Un-muddling Truth

Sunrises and sunsets are two of my favorite things. From the time I was a small child, I have loved watching them. I remember getting up early Easter morning . . . while it was still dark . . . and watching the sky turn from purple-blue to red to orange to pink at our little church’s outdoor Sunrise Service. And I remember sitting with my dad on the the field bleachers, after playing second base on our community softball team, and simply being with him as the summer sun slipped behind the green tree-line of the park.

The best part about sunrises and sunsets is that you don’t have to be in any special place to see them. I thoroughly enjoy watching the sun come up through my bedroom window. And I stand outside on my front porch to watch it set over the tree-tops at the edge of our western meadow.

You don’t have to live anywhere special . . . or travel anywhere exotic . . . or earn any special credentials to enjoy sunrises and sunsets. They are always there . . . every day . . . for everyone . . . everywhere. You just have to be up early enough or stop hurrying long enough to watch them.

I think Truth is like that. It is there for everyone. All the time. As dependable as the sunrise and the sunset. And even more beautiful. But we can miss it.

I started reading my Bible the other day and turned to the book of 2 Timothy. It is one of my favorites because it is the last letter the apostle Paul wrote before he was martyred. In this book are the last words, last encouragements, and last counsel of a very great man . . . communicated to his beloved son-in-the-Lord.

So I started reading verses 1 and 2:

Paul,

an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God,

according to the promise of life in Christ Jesus,

To Timothy, my beloved son:

Grace, mercy and peace from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Lord.

2 Tim 1:1-2 (NASB)

Then I looked at a commentary to see what Matthew Henry had to say about the first few verses. I was riveted by two simple sentences in his essay:

True believers have in every age the same religion as to substance. Their faith is unfeigned; it will stand the trial, and it dwells in them as a living principle.

I started thinking about all the things believers in Jesus cannot seem to agree upon. All the nuances of doctrine. All the interpretations of scripture. All the “special revelations” that I hear from preachers and see on Christian Bookstore bookshelves. It seems that we have done such a thorough job of muddling Truth that the clarity of Christian living has become lost in all of our cacophony and posturing.

Matthew Henry’s statement is so simple.
And clear.
And elegant.
And I think he is right.
All true believers . . . in any age . . . are of the same substance.
And there must be no muddling of what that really is.

First, our faith is unfeigned. It is genuine, sincere, real, not counterfeit, not hypocritical.

Second, our faith will withstand any trial. Steadfast. Sure.

Third, our faith is alive in everything we think and feel and believe and do. It is the breath and the heartbeat of who we are. It is not a dead assent. It is not a mysterious revelation. It is not an unattainable hope. It is a living principle.

There is quiet strength in a faith like that.
Real Christians.
Never giving up.
Living as honest testimonies of Jesus.
I have met people like that and am humbled by their living, active faith in God.

I think that is what Paul had on his heart as he began to pen his words to Timothy.

And I think Isaac Watts believed that too when he wrote the words to this hymn in the late 1600’s. The third verse is sung as a doxology in many churches . . . of various denominations . . . even now .

True believers in every age . . .

From all that dwell below the skies

Let the Creator's praise arise!

Let the Redeemer's grace be sung

In every land, by every tongue!

Eternal are thy mercies, Lord!

Eternal truth attends thy word!

Thy praise shall sound from shore to shore,

Till sun shall rise and set no more.

Praise GOD, from whom all blessings flow!

Praise Him, all creatures here below!

Praise Him above, ye heavenly host!

Praise FATHER, SON, and HOLY GHOST!

Amen and Amen.

- Isaac Watts, born in 1674

With every morning sunrise,
‘till He comes again . . .
grace, mercy, and peace from God the Father and Christ Jesus our Lord
be unto
us
all.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Being Shushed: To Be Changed

The melody of the Gospel is simple and poignant. It is a song of love and sacrifice and transcendence that has the power to change the human heart.

But sometimes we don’t want to be changed. We want to be moved. We want to be inspired. We want to be entertained. But we do not want to be changed. We prefer to harmonize with a different music . . . sing lyrics that are popular and comfortable . . . rather than submit to the Eternal Voice that calls us into harmony with God.

My last blog was about being still.
This one is about being changed.
And change cannot happen without stillness.

Generosity.
Wisdom.
Patience.
Moral uprightness
Peace.
Steadfastness.
Hope.

These are things that come from the broken, quiet, still place where God changes a heart.
They are not earned through the school of hard knocks.
They cannot be bought in the marketplace of busy schedules and success.
They will not seek approval from applauding, admiring audiences.
They do not engender the kind of public popularity that brings notoriety and fame.
They are vulnerable.
They are quiet.
They are dependent upon God’s Word because they have no influence or power of their own.
Their posture is bent.
Their demeanor is prudent.
They are usually hidden.
And they are utterly harmonious with the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

There is a different melody playing in the world today, however, that is in discord with God’s Gospel.
It is boastful and craves fame.
It publicly accuses others of the very things it does in secret.
It requires unwavering allegiance.
It is harmless as a dove when basking in adulation, but it is a raging bull when uncovered by Truth.
It continually conducts warfare, but never personally shows up on the battlefield – preferring to leave the casualties to its foot soldiers.
It hates the 10 Commandments because it feeds upon moral relativism.
It fogs spiritual Truth with re-definitions of meekness, goodness, grace, and love.
It seeks to benefit where it has not worked, yet proclaims nobility for its commonness.
It calls for an end to judgmentalism, yet exalts itself by denigrating others.
It promises mysteries for those who seek, but its revelations leave you lost and confused.
It values wit or charisma or beauty or anything else with which it can buy influence and power.
It comes from a place of loud, busy, deceptive clamor that hates God’s quietness.

I don’t usually lean toward negative things in my blog. But I hear an attack on the Gospel of Jesus Christ. It is brokered by satan’s kingdom and sometimes bought by the church. I believe that we are seeing spiritual days like the prophet Elijah saw. He saw the rule of King Ahaz. He understood the power of Jezebel. He was even afraid. Here is part of Elijah’s story as recorded in 1 Kings 19:9-13:

And there he went into a cave, and spent the night in that place; and behold, the word of the Lord came to him, and He said to him,

"What are you doing here, Elijah?" 

So he said, "I have been very zealous for the Lord God of hosts; for the children of Israel have forsaken Your covenant, torn down Your altars, and killed Your prophets with the sword. I alone am left; and they seek to take my life." 

Then He said, "Go out, and stand on the mountain before the Lord."

And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind tore into the mountains and broke the rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind;

and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake;

and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire;

and after the fire a still small voice. 

So it was, when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood in the entrance of the cave. Suddenly a voice came to him, and said,

"What are you doing here, Elijah?"

So I am speaking.
And I am pleading to believers . . . followers . . . disciples of Jesus the Messiah.

Be still.
Be quiet.
Listen.
To the music of our lives, our relationships, our beliefs, our testimonies . . .
To the call of God to be different . . .

It isn’t enough to only be inspired by God.
We must be changed by Him.
And change only happens in the place of holy stillness

. . . where the only sound we hear is the melody of God’s Gospel

. . . and the only sound we make is the deep groaning of repentance.

That is where harmony is born.
Harmony that is pure.
Harmony that is True.
Harmony that finds its fame in the cross of Christ and its hope in the Gospel it brings.
The real Gospel.
Not necessarily the popular one.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 
He was in the beginning with God. 
All things came into being through Him, 
and apart from Him nothing came into being that has come into being. 
In Him was life, and the life was the Light of men. 
The Light shines in the darkness, 
and the darkness did not comprehend it.

John 1:1-5 (NASB)

Be still before the LORD

and wait patiently for him;

do not fret when men succeed in their ways,

when they carry out their wicked schemes.

Refrain from anger and turn from wrath; do not fret--it leads only to evil.

For evil men will be cut off, but those who hope in the LORD will inherit the land.

Psalms 37:7-9

Are we being still?
Are we hearing His voice?
Are we being changed?
With whom are we harmonizing?
What are we doing here?

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Being Shushed: To Be Still

I love puddles.  

I see such stillness in them.  
Even the chaos of concentric rings colliding from randomly plopping drops has a sense of serenity about it.  
There is an unexplainable order to it.  
Soothing rhythm without meter.   

And when the shower passes, the puddles stay a little while 
. . . quietly mirroring the clean, rain-washed day.  
So beautiful.

I need this kind of serenity.  Especially in the middle of life’s storms.  

. . . things dropping out of brooding skies, colliding with other things, splashing all over the place, creating ripples that bump into more ripples . . . discomposing my plans . . . tussling my emotions . . . 

There is something elegant about a heart that reflects serenity in difficult places. 

Stillness isn’t very trendy.  Brashness is.  Speak your mind.  Be yourself boldly.  Make an impact.  Insist that people always know where you’re coming from.  Live out loud and live loudly.

From Mirriam-Webster’s dictionary, here are some descriptions of "brash:"

full of fresh, raw vitality;

uninhibitedly demonstrative or energetic;

lacking restraint and discernment;

done in haste without regard for consequences;

aggressively self-assertive;

piercingly sharp.

Passion is power for brash people.  Passion is their medium for expression and their means of persuasion.  And it is their validation of truth.

But I am discovering a rich life-treasure in things that are outside of the clamor.  Things that are not brash.  Things that must be drawn from a deep well of soul-quietness.  Things that mean very little when they are paraded about as trophies . . . but are profoundly meaningful when they stand as noble sentinels over a life well lived:

Perseverance.  

Hope.

Repentance.   

Integrity.  

Joy. 

Faith.

Goodness.

Wisdom.

These kinds of things come from brokenness instead of brashness.  They cannot be bought with passion.  They are courageous and astounding and heroic, but they must be slowly worked into the soil of our hearts in the quiet stillness where Truth changes things.  The working of them takes time.  Often causes pain.  But always brings Life.  The Life of God . . . from God . . . in us.

I know that God’s salvation is a gift; it cannot be earned.  And I know that the expression of His salvation in His children is as varied as the flowers in a field or the birds in the sky.  But I am also beginning to understand how shallow . . . and how very cheap . . . a brash faith can be. 

Holly stenciled a short Bible verse on Rachel’s “computer room” wall when she came to visit recently.   This verse has been resonating in my heart for several years, but seeing it written on my daughter-in-law’s wall was so beautiful.  

And quiet.  

And profound.

It is a kind of holy shushing.  
A solemn mandate to stop running and stop shouting and stop performing.  

So we can be quieted to hear.  
And see.  
And truly be changed 

. . .in the stillness of God’s Word 

. . . and in the Truth of who He really is.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

The Reid/Ohlheiser Wedding

As my son and his new bride celebrated their “first month anniversary” on August 3rd, I began to reflect on the tranquil beauty of their wedding. The guests sat in folding chairs that were arranged diagonally across our sand volleyball court (sans net, of course). Two friends played instrumental guitar music that my son had co-written. David and Rachel spoke simple, heartfelt vows on a patch of grass overlooking a Smoky Mountain panorama. Our home. Blue sky. White clouds. Summer sun. So very simple.

But there was something immense in the heart of God that presided over this unembellished intimacy. People came. And they brought their blessing to it. And I saw . . . even if only in my limited way . . . how very great God is.

If I tried to narrate for you all the different life-stories of the guests that parked their cars at our barn and walked down the gravel drive to this Ohlheiser/Reid wedding, I would need to write a book. Or maybe even a volume of books. Everyone came despite their personal illnesses or their personal tragedies or their personal biases or even their personally hectic schedules. Some had travelled long distances to be with us. All had journeyed through years of friendship or family love with us. They didn’t all know each other. But the God Who Knows came with each of them. There was rich fellowship. We were so very, very grateful.

It was a small wedding. Elegant in its simplicity. Profound in its quiet acknowledgment that the Lord is God. And He is good.

As I now browse through the photo album and let the memories distill themselves through the filter of God’s utter faithfulness, images of a fairy-tale wedding or a dashing-prince groom or a Barbie-princess bride don’t really find footing in my heart. Something else is settling there. Something intimate. Something immense.

There is such immensity in God’s intimacy. If we are not vigilant over Truth in our souls, we will miss it. We will miss the largeness of His Love. We will miss the precious variety in His people. We will miss valuable opportunities to offer hope and compassion to those who live outside of our community of believers.

The unfathomable depth of a private relationship with the Creator of the Universe . . . if we let Him pursue us honestly and simply . . . will bring life. Forgiveness. Redemption. Peace. Joy. And much, much more. This truth, for me, is at the heart of David's and Rachel's wedding.

The intimacy of God can be so immense. If we let it.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Rain

I love rain.

I love the shushing noise it makes when it ruffles spring’s soft iris petals.

I love the cooling calm it sprinkles generously across a steamy summer afternoon.

I love the dank, musty smell of soppy leaves after a chilly autumn downpour.

And I even love the cold, dusky aloneness of a long winter’s drench.

I need rain.

To quiet my heart.

To refresh my soul.

To remind me that every season of my life must have life-giving showers to soften the parched, dry places. So that things can be planted. And watered. And grow.

“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)

God’s precious Word is my rain. Sometimes flooding. Sometimes gently showering. Always bringing Truth when It comes. And always leaving behind a renewed sense that it isn’t my understanding of His Ways that really matters.

I don’t need to understand at all.

I simply need to know.

Him.

I’ve been keeping a photo journal of the rain at Kirkhaven. Here’s a picture of my wet “walking boots” after I have traipsed through the soggy Kirkhaven meadow snapping pictures of rain-glazed grass.

I wanted to share some of my rain photos with you. I send them out into the blogosphere with a simple, heart-felt prayer. For those who are thirsty. For those who are dry. For those who know. And for those who think they can’t:

Father, send the rain.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid