Tuesday, January 31, 2012

A Year With God, Day 31 of 366--Reflection

Today marks the end of my first month of blogging, so I think I'll take a moment today to think about what I've written and what I am hoping to accomplish here.

My original goal was simply to write something every day, to get myself in the habit of doing so.  I thought I'd type out some of the random thoughts I have occasionall on the subjects of God and the Bible.  I thought perhaps I'd come up with one or two ideas worth pursuing further.

I didn't think too much about whether anyone else might read this.  But I wrote--and still write, with the thought in mind that this is first for my own edification, but the thought that someone else might read it.  So I don't put every thought down.  Which is probably a good thing, since I have been rather depressed lately, and I whine plenty elsewhere.  And there are some things that are not mine to tell, and some things I don't want made public, even to such a limited public as this blog draws.

As I've written, though, I think it's been a benefit to me.  This blog helps me clarify my thoughts, and work out things.  I might be writing about Deborah, but I am thinking about my life.  And I also think of possible readers, and there are enough people who've mentioned the blog to me that I know a few do read it occasionally, and it reminds me that there are people who care about me.

Many of my posts concern things I see or read that remind me of God.  And typing them out each day, I've come to realize that a lot of things make me think of God.  And I find myself looking for God in every day life.  Which is a good thing.  Looking for things to write about gives me focus, too, so I feel like I'm accomplishing something.

So much as I sometimes don't want to write a post every single day.  As often as I find myself delayed in going to bed because I put it off until the end of the night, I am glad that I chose to start this blog.  And I feel good that I have--with one exception-- held true to my commitment to write every day.

So, going forward, my goals are to write my blog entries in the morning, so I don't delay them too long.  I also hope to illustrate that God can be found everywhere--in songs and romance novels and playing with pets.  God is not just God in the big things.  He wants to be present for every small detail of our lives.  And if we look for Him we will find Him. 

I think there's a Psalm that says that.  I will have to look that up.  Or Jeremiah 23:23-- 'Am I a God nearby, declares the Lord, 'and not one far away?'

Though I suppose in this case it would be the opposite-- God is not just far away, he is God nearby, too.

Monday, January 30, 2012

A Year With God, Day 30 of 366

Many times in the Bible, believers are referred to as sheep.  It's possible to draw a lot from that analogy, but I am thinking of something more basic.

There is a certain trust you get when you take good care of a pet.  Perhaps not turtles or fish, but I always feel good when my cat deigns to curl up on my lap.  And when a dog hops up beside you and collapses with her head on your knee, well, that shows true trust.

And that's how we should feel when we talk to God.  Confident that he will take care of us, trusting that he knows best, perfectly content to draw close and fall asleep, knowing he will protect us and provide for us.

There are worse things than being God's lap dog.

Sunday, January 29, 2012

A Year With God, Day 29 of 366

I was thinking of the scene in the New Testament when Jesus walked on the water.  Peter sees Jesus and recognizes him from the boat he and a couple other disciples were riding in, and Peter jumps out and runs across the water.  Then suddenly he realizes what he's doing and sinks.  Jesus reaches out and pulls him back out of the water.

The point of the story is usually about keeping your eyes on Jesus, and trusting him to keep your footing solid.

But if I had been in that boat, I would not have been Peter.  I might have recognized Jesus first (because soemtimes I can recognize people by the back of their head, or the way they stand) but I would not have jumped out of the boat.

I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.  Peter is known for his impulsive reactions, which is his greatest strength and his greatest weakness all in one.  But everyone can't be like Peter.

But I would have been jealous of Peter.  I'd have wished I had the nerve to jump out of the boat, too.  But I just don't think that's in my nature.

And I have to be okay with that.  I would be there to help Peter and Jesus into the boat and give them towels to dry off with.  And that's not a bad thing, either.

A Year With God, Day 28 of 366 (belated)

2 Chronicles 6:32-33
"As for the foreigner who does not belong to your people Israel but has come from a distant land because of your great name and your mighty hand and your outstretched arm--when he comes and prays toward this temple,
then hear from heaven, your dwelling place and do whatever the foreigner asks of you, so that ll the peoples of the earth may know your name and fear you, as do your own people Israel, and may know that this house I have built bears your name."

This verse caught my eye.  This is what church is supposed to be like, opening and welcoming of all who come to worship.  This is the welcoming spirit I've found in every church I've attended, from Oregon to Florida back to Oregon, then down to Texas, back up to Ohio, and now back to Oregon again.  

The family of God should be like any loving family, where you are welcome to stay with your aunts and uncles and cousins if you travel their way.  Instead of the connection of family bloodlines, believers are joined by the blood of Christ.  In both cases, there are certain shared experiences that bring people together.

And it's implied in verse 32 that the foreigner is respectful of God's temple.  He goes to pray toward the temple.  So he is not the bad houseguest who complains constantly and demands that his hosts cater to his every need and want.  Instead he is interested in what his hosts are doing.  He wants to learn more about them, and spend time with them, and enjoy the beauty of their home.

So, let's remember this when others come to visit our homes, or our church homes.  And remember it, too, when we visit others.

Friday, January 27, 2012

A Year With God, Day 27 of 366

What is woe?

Merriam Webster.com defines it as:  Used to describ grief, regret or distress.

I think woe is like depression, sort of a worn-down weariness and lack of hope.  Woe is the feeling you get when you think, 'This is it.  If things don't get better today, I'm done.'

In some translations of the Bible, it uses the phrase, 'Woe unto you.'  Usually said to those who knowingly sin against God--like teachers of the law who are more interested in building their own power, rather than educating the people.

Woe is not something that should be wished on someone lightly.  I think I have been feeling woe recently, and now I begin to see the light ahead.  And the lightening of the load makes me realize how burdened I have been feeling.

If you turn to God and rely on him, your woe will become hope again.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

A Year With God, Day 26 of 366

Genesis 1:5
'God called the light "day" and the darkness he called "night".  And there was evening and there was morning--the first day.'

Imagine what that first day must have been like.  Darkness, then out of nowhere . . . light!  The dawn of a new world, the dawn of a new day, full of new beginnings.

And this has been repeated millions of times.  Each day is a chance for a new start, and each day is unique.

What a blessing the morning is.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

A Year With God, Day 25 of 366

In Judges chapter 4, Deborah, the prophetess who led Israel, calls for Barak, who was a general in Israel's army.  She told him that God would deliver Sisera, an enemy general into his hand.

But Barak said he would only go if she went with him.  And in verse 9, '"Very well," Deborah said. "I will go with you.  But because of the way you are going about this, the honor will not be yours, for the Lord will hand Sisera over to a woman.

Sisera hear that Barak was coming after him, so he fled to a friend's tent.  Jael, his friend's wife, greeted him, gave him mil, and covered him with a blanket.  He told her to stand watch and hide him, but when he fell asleep, she drove a tent stake through his temple and killed him.

There are several interesting things about this story.  I wonder about Heber, Jael's husband.  I wonder why Jael decided to kill Sisera.  It doesn't really say.  The important thing is that the word of God that Deborah gave was fulfilled.

One might call this passage a story of feminine triumph.  Or it could be described as feminine duplicity.  I find myself respecting Jael's courage.  Any woman, facing a warrior alone must have courage to face him down and kill him as she did.

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

A Year With God, Day 24 of 366

In Judges, 4:4, it says, "Deborah, a prophetess, the wife of Lappidoth, was leading Israel at that time."

This is what I love about the Old Testament.  What a fascinating story, hinted at in this verse.  The Bible skips over all the boring background, mentioning only the most important details:  she was a prophetess, she was married and she was leading Israel. 

I am no biblical scholar, but this is the only mention I remember of a woman being a prophet, much less a woman leading Israel.  I would be fascinated to hear the background of Deborah.  How did she become a prophetess?  Was it before or after her marriage?  What did her husband think about her calling?  How did she come to lead Israel?

Clearly, even in the Old Testament, women were capable of leading a country.  When people talk about the merits of a female president of the U.S., I think of Deborah and laugh to myself.  Especially when they claim offense based on Christian principles.

Monday, January 23, 2012

A Year With God, Day 23 of 366

Today, I  thought about momentum.  I had plans to apply for a particular job today, but other plans got in the way, and I lost my momentum.

For some reason my mind sprang to the story of Joshua and the Battle of Jericho, as told in Joshua, Chapter 6.

The Lord commanded Joshua and the Israelites to march once around the city every day for six days, and then on the seventh day, to march around it seven times, and then give a lout shout with the trumpet blast.

And on that seventh day, when they blew their horns and shouted, the walls of Jericho collapsed, and the Israelites swarmed in and destroyed the city.

What would have happened if the Israelites had stopped on the sixth day?  or if they'd only gone round the city five times on the seventh day?  Or if they'd all decided they were too tired to shout when the trumpets blasted?

It is wrong to rush in mindlessly.  But it is also important to keep my momentum going.  Every day I fail to look for a job makes it a little harder to look the day after that.  And if I were to skip writing a blog entry, as I have occasionally been tempted to do, then it will be that much harder to start again.

For me, too much thought is problem.  I go over every detail in my mind, and then I feel like I already know what the outcome will be (and often I conclude it will be a negative outcome), and so I convince myself it's not worth the effort of doing anything in the first place.

Shame on me for that.  Tomorrow I will get up, and march a lap around the city, and apply for that job.

Sunday, January 22, 2012

A Year With God, Day 22 of 366

Today, four young people were baptised at my church.  The first had a crowd of family members to witness and support him.  The other three had no one, or at least no one who came forward.

And as I watched the youth pastor say a few words about each of them, and lead a prayer for each of them, and baptise each of them, it occurred to me how brave they must be.

My own baptism was years ago, a mere formality.  It was more something to get out of the way, than a profound confession of faith.

I looked at those young people, and I prayed and clapped and cheered for them with the rest of the congregation.  And I realized how blessed I was to have family and friends to lead and teach and support me.  How lucky I was to have attended a very small church and have a personal relationship with several wonderful pastors who led me to question and learn and be confident in my faith.  And I thought how it was all wasted on me, because I didn't appreciate any of it.

I thought how much more courage it must take to stand up in front of the church alone, facing many people you might not even know, and confess your faith.  I am a bit of a coward, I realize, because I don't know that I could do the same without my family by my side.

I feel blessed to witness it.  I was blessed to see Pastor Scott talk about the personal relationship he had with each of them.  I hope they felt blessed as well, and that they sensed the joy and pride we all in the congregation felt with them.

I thought of Elijah, in 1 Kings 19:9-11
There he [Elijah] went into a cave and spent the night.
And the word of the Lord came to him:  "What are you doing here, Elijah?"
He replied, "I have been very zealous for the Lord God Almighty.  The Israelites have rejected your covenant, broken down your altars, and put your prophets to death with the sword.  I am the only one left, and now they are trying to kill me, too."
The Lord said, "Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the the Lord is about to pass by."

My prayer for those baptised today is this-- that they will stand up before all men as they stood before the church today, confident in their faith, as Elijah was.  And I pray that when they get tired and weary and afraid and lonely, as Elijah did, that they will feel the presence of the Lord, as Elijah did.

Amen.

Saturday, January 21, 2012

A Year With God, Day 21 of 366

Today I was struck by the thought that the solution is right in front of me, but I still cannot see it.

Yet.

Friday, January 20, 2012

A Year With God, Day 20 of 366

There is a scene in 'The Curse of Chalion' by Lois McMaster Bujold, where the main character remembers being the commander of a castle under seige. 

The food was gone, the men were tired and injured.  There seemed no hope.  Cazaril stands watch on the battlements and has a moment of reflection.  He was following a god chosen by his age and sex, and now he feels abandoned.  So he takes off his religious amulet and throws into the darkness, then throws himself down in a fit of angst, vowing to serve any god who chose to take him up. 

The book is set in a time and place where there are five gods, the Son, for young men, the Daughter for young women, the Father for Older/married men, the Mother for older/married women, and the Bastard for anyone left over.

The story continues with something like, 'he lay there in the darkness, waiting.  But nothing happened.  Well, eventually he got up and went back inside, and shortly thereafter came word that the castle had been surrendered by their distant commanders.  And his men were ransomed and went home.  Only Cazaril went on a different path.'

That was the true beginning of the story, though he did not realize it until years later.

Last night I asked for a sign, and I did not receive one.  Or at least, not an obvious sign.  It seems God often works in subtle ways.  So perhaps I did get my sign.  Perhaps the sign was in one of the jobs I applied for today.  Perhaps it was in the windy but dry half hour spent at the dog park.  Perhaps it was in that scene from 'The Curse of Chalion'.

I do not know what plans God might have for me.  But I know they are plans for my good.  'For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."  Jeremiah 29:11

Thursday, January 19, 2012

A Year With God, Day 19 of 366

Job 42:1-2
The Job replied to the Lord:
"I know that you can do all things;
no plan of your can be thwarted."

Is there any point in worrying?  If you believe in God and what the Bible says about Him, there really isn't.  'Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?' Luke 12:25.

And we are told that God knows us, every hair on our head, every action we will take, every thought we will have, and He knew it all before we were even born or even conceived.

So, why do I worry?  Worry seems like the ultimate in pride and unbelief rolled together.  I am so proud, that I think that I cand do better than God's plan for me?  I believe so little, that I think that God's plan can be broken by human error or carelessness?  Unlikely.

And yet I do worry.  I worry constantly.  I worry that I will somehow mess up God's plan.  That I am not good enough for God to want to take care of me.  This is a constant battle for me.  I keep thinking if only one thing will go right, then I will be able to stop worrying.  And yet a hundred things go right for me every day, only I am too busy worrying to notice them.  They might be small things, but still . . .

Is it too much to demand a sign?  Some obvious portent that I can hold in my heart as proof of God's plan?  Perhaps not.  It has been done before.  Even I once recieved a sign when I prayed for one.  But only that one time.   Or perhaps there were signs, but I missed them.  That is most possible of all.

I want to be in God's will.  I think that His will involves me writing.  That is the reason behind this blog, after all.  But I don't see how writing a simple blog will pay my rent or put food on my table.  And that is a lack of trust in God.  I know this, but it still terrifies me.

So, God, please, give me a sign.  Show me mercy and help me support my family.  Comfort me with the knowledge that I will be taken care of in this life as well as the next, and that those I care for will be taken care of as well.

Amen.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

A Year With God, Day 18 of 366

There is an old saying, "The Lord helps those that help themselves." I don't think that's actually in the Bible, though.

I have a tendency to procrastinate.  And lately, I've been thinking that things being so rough lately is because God wants me to rely on him.  But yesterday, my  husband told me to stop with the 'poor me stuff' and focus on what I can be doing instead of worrying over things I can't control.

The Bible does say, 'Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will take care of itself.  Each day has enough trouble of its own.' in Matthew 6:34.  And it talks about how God takes care of the sparrows, and are we not worth more than many sparrows? 

But the thing is, a sparrow doesn't just sit in the trees and wait for God to bring her breakfast lunch and dinner every day.  She is out searching for worms and seeds and bugs and whatever else sparrows eat.  God provides, but she has to do her part, too.

So I am thinking of things I can do to improve my situation--namely, finding work to support my family.  And I know some of the things I can do to try to find work.  I have been putting it off, because it's not the kind of work I would choose, and I am not sure if I'd be hired for it or not.  But that's not the point, is it?  The point is to go out and look.  I can then put it in God's hands that I will find the right job for me. 

There could be a perfect job for me waiting out there somewhere, and God wants me to have it, but I will never get it if I sit at home instead of going out to look for it.

And so, there it is.  Another goal, now put into writing, which makes it harder for me to ignore it.  I will make myself a to-do list and pray for the  . . . whatever the opposite of procrastination is, so that I will stick to it.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

A Year With God, Day 17 of 366

Today I went to the dog park in the rain.  The park was empty, just me and my dog, and the cold rain.  There was a rather sad and lonely feel to the place.  We walked around and I threw the ball a few times, but we didn't stay long.

It was a huge contrast to a normal day at the park.  There are normally several dogs and their owners, running and playing and laughing happy doggy laughs.  I find so much joy just watching them play fetch and chase and wrestling around.

When the park is empty and not in use, it loses something.  It's appeal comes from being used properly.  When no one's there, it loses that purpose, and becomes a mere shell-- chain link fence around a field, the grass worn down to mud in places, with a few abandoned tennis balls lying wherever they've fallen.

In the same way, a person's life loses purpose when it's not being used properly.  We are meant to have friends, to go out and work and play and interact with each other.  I have been spending a good deal of time alone lately, and today brought home the fact that this is not the way I was meant to live.  Without a job to go to, or people to interact with, I become stagnant, sitting alone and sinking deeper into a sense of helplessness and loneliness.

It says in the New Testament "Do not forsake the gathering of yourselves together."  Hebrews 10:24.  And it is profoundly true, not just for religion's sake.  It's necessary just to live well.

Or at least it is for me.  So that is what I learned from today's trip to the dog park.

Monday, January 16, 2012

A Year With God, Day 16 of 366

Isaiah 52:7
"How lovely on the mountains are the feet of him who bring good news."

This verse is part of a chorus we used to sing in church sometimes.  And it's just a really lovely image. How wonderful to be running through the mountains carrying good news.

Even if your feet are sore, or the weather is bad and snow is falling, when you're bringing good news you don't notice the harship as much.

It's interesting that it says the feet are lovely.    You don't normally think of feet being beautiful.  But when you send someone off on a trip,  you say, 'Drive careful!' and 'Come home soon!' or maybe even 'Godspeed'.  So I suppose the mention of feet could mean a wish for a safe and rapid journey. 

Or it could mean that when someone is carrying good news, you are happy to see them, even if the first thing you see is their feet.

And this messenger of good news, Isaiah goes on to say, proclaims peace, brings good tidings and proclaims salvation.  He declares that God reigns.

And that is good news indeed. 

Sunday, January 15, 2012

A Year With God, Day 15 of 366

Hebrews 13:1
Keep on loving each other as brothers.

My vague thoughts on today's blog entry never solidified into anything coherant.  So I flipped through my Bible looking for inspiration, but nothing jumped out in the Old Testament.

I tend to prefer the Old Testament to the New.  The New Testament seems to be mostly instructions and corrections.  The Old Testament is full of stories.  They say that one can learn almost everything about human emotions and behaviors from the old Greek playwrights, but honestly, Sophokles has nothing on the Old Testament.

But finding no inspiration there, I thumbed over to Hebrews and found this verse.  And it just seems to sum everything up in a few words.  Love each other as brothers.  That means care about each other, be kind to each other, and also point out wrong thinking and behaviors, but in a loving way.

Yes, that is a good thought for the day, and little--no, nothing needs to be added to that.

Saturday, January 14, 2012

A Year With God, Day 14 of 366

I started wondering today . . . what did Jonah think about for three days in the belly of the great fish?

So I grabbed my Bible and re-read the story.  Jonah got swallowed by the whale, and THEN he prayed.  Interesting.

God wanted Jonah to go to Ninevah, but Jonah didn't want to go.  So he ran away from God and hopped a ship to Tarshish.  I don't know exactly where Ninevah and Tarshish are at, but I'm guessing Tarshish was in the opposite direction.

A great storm came up, and the sailors knew it was not a normal storm.  They cast lots--drew straws perhaps--and Jonah drew the short straw.  Jonah admitted the storm must have started because of his disobedience.  So he tells the sailors to throw him overboard.

The sailors don't want to, but the storm grows so bad that they finally pray for mercy and toss Jonah into the sea.  And God sent the great fish to save Jonah, and it is only then that Jonah prays.

Jonah is an interesting character.  He has to be one of the most stubborn men in the Bible.  He refuses to concede that God might have plans for Ninevah.  Jonah didn't want to go to Ninevah, therefore God must be wrong to send him there.

I find it interesting that he was willing to go overboard into the raging waters.  Was this because he expected to die?  Or did he know God would save him?  Perhaps by that point, he didn't care.

In the end, Jonah did go to Ninevah, and the city repented.  But Jonah didn't rejoice and praise the Lord over it.  Instead he seems just pout, because it turned out God was right and he was wrong.

There are many interpretations of Jonah, and many lessons to be learned from him.  But what strikes me tonight is this-- Don't wait til you're in the belly of the fish to start praying.

Friday, January 13, 2012

A Year With God, Day 13 of 366

I think about what I want to write in this blog throughout the day.  I often think of a great idea first thing in the morning, ponder and consider it through the early afternoon, and by supper time, I can't remember what the idea was any more.

I suppose this means I need to start writing my blog post earlier in the day, to counter act my own procrastination.

I was thinking about free will tonight.  There is a series of romance novels written by Sherrilyn Kenyon which feature a god from the lost land of Atlantis.  There is a group of people who work for him, and he tries to help them find true love, among other things.  Sometimes he laments the necessity of free will.  It would be so much easier if he could make people do what he knows will make them happy.  But unfortunately, the choice must come from each person's decision.  He can't, or perhaps chooses not to influence someone's free will.

I find that  an interesting perspective on how God works.  People like to  lament the bad things in their lives, and say, 'Why is this happening to me?  Why did God let this happen to me?' 

I think we forget that sometimes (and it is only sometimes) what happens in our lives comes as a direct result of choices we make.  Choosing to drop out of high school, for example, will probably make it harder to find a good job, causing me to lose financial security and bringing all kinds of stress into my life.  There may be many circumstances that influenced my decision to drop out, but ultimately, it was my decision to make.

(That is purely hypothetical.  I did finish high school, and college, too, actually.)

It is depressing to think that we bring trouble on ourselves by making bad decisions.  It's easier to blame God for everything that goes wrong. 

But at the same time, it's empowering to claim your own decisions.  I think back on some of the less-than-wise choices I made, and I tell myself, 'That was not the best thing I could have done, but it was my choice, so I will deal with the consequences and work to change what I don't like.'

I learned about self esteem at the Christian Women's Job Corps in San Angelo, Texas.  And one of the things I learned was that when we take responsibility, we also take control over our lives and that gives us power.

I try to live my life according to God's laws, not because I'm afraid of going to hell, or because I blindly follow what my parents or pastor or husband tells me do, but because I choose to believe that's the right way to live.  And experience is showing me that I am happier and better off as a result, so it is indeed the right way for me to live.

Flash Fiction #4--time travel-- part two

Sam helped him with the bags, and followed him up the walkway to the main building, straight to the Dean’s office.
An uncomfortable half hour interview followed.  At least, it was uncomfortable for Sam.  Carver seemed perfectly in his element, blandly introducing himself as her father’s agent, he provided copies of her application, and the letter of approval.  The Dean’s secretary had apparently lost the originals.  A similar argument about Sam arriving mid-term was forestalled when Carver handed over her test scores. 
At long last, they made their way into the office of the Dean himself, the self-styled General Beaurgcheaup. The General was an aging man, slightly fussy in manner as well as appearance.  He constantly stroked and twirled his impressive mustache—bright white with long curled ends.  Sam quickly decided that this was a subconscious attempt to distract from the fact that the General knew very little about anything practical.
“I say,” he murmured anxiously, when confronted with Carver’s pile of documentation.  “I say, this is most unusual.”
“Samantha’s father is aware of that.  But her mother recently passed away, and that has thrown off everyone’s time table.  I’m sure you understand.”  Sam rather doubted that last bit.
“Her mother, yes . . .” Beaurgcheaup carefully avoided letting his watery blue eyes touch Sam’s person.
“Dr. Serena Throckmartin,” Carver went on smoothly.  “Perhaps you’ve heard of her?  She was a noted geneticist.”
“Throckmartin, yes. . .  Never heard of her.”
Carver sat back a little, eyeing the General with just a hint of censure.  “Hm.  Well, it is a rather select field of study.  Needless to say, Dr. Throckmartin took great care with her daughter’s education.”
That, at least, was true, Samantha reflected.  Not that there had been much to do except study at the remote northern research base where she’d lived most of her life.  Luckily, Sam enjoyed reading and study.
“Yes, yes,” the General whuffled through his mustache.  “But the girl’s father . . .”
Sam caught the subtle emphasis he used, but she wasn’t sure what it meant.  So did Carver, who clearly understood what the General was inferring.
“Yes, Samantha’s father is responsible for her care now.  He wants nothing but the best for his daughter, and all our research led us to Milbyrne Academy as the best possible school for her.”
“Of course, of course,” the General nodded at this compliment to his school.
Sam thought Carver was laying it on a bit thick herself.
“But her father didn’t come to see her settled personally?”  Beaurgcheaup asked with a hint of censure.
Carver stared at him for a long moment, his gaze slightly chilled.  “Samantha’s father is a busy man, with many demands on his time.”  He continued, talking over the General’s conciliatory mutter, “He is also rather well-known in certain circles, and prefers not to expose himself to unnecessary publicity.”  He paused.  “He also felt that the extra attention his presence would draw might make Samantha uncomfortable.”
Samantha knew the last sentence was for her benefit.  She shifted a little in her chair, realizing that she had misjudged her father, at least a little.  Picturing him here, in this office . . . she was suddenly grateful that Carver was her only escort.
“I see.  I see,”  Beaurgcheaup tended to repetition when he was nervous, Sam couldn’t help noticing.  “But still . . . highly unusual.”
“Yes,” Carver countered patiently.  “But all her paperwork is in order.  Surely there is no reason she would not be able to start classes?  Or are all of your dormitories filled to capacity?”
Sam knew this for a dig at the General’s finances.   Carver knew very well that Milbyrne Academy had plenty of spaces available, not least due to the cost of tuition.  Though the high standards for admittance were also a factor.  Her father truly had put time and effort into researching schools on her behalf, if only delegated time and effort.
“No, no,” the General agreed.  “We do have one or two spots open.”  He rubbed his mustache for a long moment before giving in.  “Very well,” he said, pulling the enrollment form closer to sign it.  “What name will she be using?”
            “Samantha Throckmartin,” She answered for herself this time.
“Throckmartin?”  Beaurgcheaup seemed surprised by that.
“Samantha’s father feels it’s in her best interest to use her mother’s surname,” Carver put in smoothly.  “For privacy’s sake.”
“I see.  I see.  Very well.”
And with a flourish of his pen, General Beaurgcheaup signed the form, and Samantha was officially enrolled in Milbyrne Academy.
The secretary provided her with a list of classes, a map of the campus, a dormitory room key and a voucher for school uniforms.  Samantha shoved it all in her backpack and followed Carver across the school grounds.  The pilot seemed to know his way around without the benefit of the poorly drawn map.  Sam wasn’t surprised.  Carver always seemed to know his way around.
“I’m glad you thought to bring the enrollment papers.  And my test scores.  I never thought they’d lose all my documentation.”
“We had a feeling it might happen.  It’s not unusual for paperwork to go astray.  So, better to be prepared, I was told.”
Sam frowned.  “We?  Did my father . . .?” she trailed off uncertainly. 
Carver gave a little cough, a rare sign of discomfort.  “It was the doctor, actually.”
“Oh.  I suppose he would know.”  Sam tried not to be disappointed.
Carver smiled sympathetically at her.  “Your father means well,” he reminded her.  “But he has absolutely no idea how to go on.  He never had to worry about enrollment papers.  Dr. Peters is an expert on paperwork, he assures us, so we listened.”
Dr. Peters was not merely a doctor.  He was also the President of the Council of Continents, the ruling body of the entire planet.  He would be well within his rights to claim unparalleled expertise in the matter of excessive paperwork. 
Sam couldn’t suppress a sigh.
“No one can know everything,” Carver reminded her gently.  “There’s no shame in listening to advice from an expert.”
“I know.”  Sam preceded him up the steps to a side door labeled, ‘Uniforms’.  “It’s just . . .” she hesitated on the top step.  “My mother was very smart, but not what you’d call common sense.  I never thought too much about my father, but it would be nice to have one normal parent.”
Carver smiled understandingly at her, but there was a hint of some deeper emotion that she couldn’t quite identify—pain, maybe, or sadness.  “Samantha,” he said.  “You have two parents who care very much about you.  Neither of them might be quite what you hoped for, but they both care.  I hope you realize how lucky you are in that.  A lot of us don’t even have one parent, caring or not.”
Sam opened her mouth, but she wasn’t sure how to respond.  She felt like apologizing, but she didn’t know for what.  She just stared at him, until he caught her shoulder and turned her toward the uniform office.
“Go get your clothes.  Then we can get you settled.  Once you know your way around a bit, you’ll feel more like yourself.”
An hour later, Sam and Carver were unlocking the door to her room.  The dormitory was larger than she’d expected, a two-room suite with a public room and separate bedroom.  She and her roommate also had a private bathroom.  The suite was empty, so she went through to the bedroom.  One of the beds was neatly made up.  The other was bare, just a mattress on a stand.
Carver went to work making the bed with the linens they’d picked up, while Sam hung up her clothing and put her other things away.  There was a small desk at one side of the room, with a standard student computer.  She and her unknown roommate apparently had to share.  Sam shrugged off her apprehension at living with a complete stranger.  Carver had been a stranger, too, not so long ago.
In too short a time, her things were all put away, her empty luggage stowed in an overhead storage compartment.  She stared up at Carver, resisting the urge to beg him to take her with him when he left.
He met her gaze for a moment, then sighed, and pushed her gently down onto the stool at the computer desk.
“You are going to be okay.”
Sam just shook her head.
“I know it’s scary, being all alone in a strange place with strange people.”
“Again,” she couldn’t resist pointing out.
“Again,” he agreed.  “I have been there, Sam.  You will be all right.”
“Well, I’ll be able to call once a week,” she said, feigning cheer.  “Every student gets five minutes on the public communicator for welfare verification.”
Carver muttered something under his breath, and searched the pockets of his flight suit.  “Here,” he said, passing her a wide metallic bracelet.  “This is for you.  For emergencies only.”
She took it.  The bracelet was actually a cleverly disguised private communications transmitter.  She buckled it on.  “Is this from the doctor?” she asked.
Carver shook his head.  “From your father.  ‘Be damned if I’ll let Sam be stranded with no means to contact us!’ Direct quote.”
He grinned at her.  She smiled weakly back.
“Us, huh?” she said.  “I know, I know.  I should appreciate having so many people who care about me.  It’s just hard, going from one parent to being raised by a committee.”
Carver sat on the edge of the bed.  “Your father doesn’t have much family, either,” he pointed out.  “His parents died when he was younger than you.”
Sam nodded, staring at the floor.  She felt the familiar twinge of guilt.  “I wish I didn’t feel like this,” she admitted.  “But I can’t seem to help myself.”
“Feelings aren’t good or bad,” Carver told her.  “Feelings are just feelings.”
Sam couldn’t help smiling at that.  “Now that is definitely from the doctor.”
Carver shrugged.  “Doc Petes  is a wise man.  And he pretty much raised me.”
“And he doesn’t have a family either,” Sam murmured.
“He does,” Carver said.  “It’s just not a biological family.”
Same stared at him.
“We are Doc Petes’ family,” the pilot went on, a bit awkwardly.  “He is like a father to me and your father.  You’re like a niece, maybe.  We are a family, just not the standard variety.”
Sam kept her eyes on his face.  Carver looked at the floor, the walls, any where except at her.  He was clearly uncomfortable with this topic.
“Just . . . think about it, okay?”
Sam nodded.  Carver drew in a breath, looking more comfortable.  He reached out to turn her wrist over. 
“See this here?” he told her, touching a recessed button in her comm bracelet.  “This is your emergency call.  You hit this, and you get me, instantly.  Any time day or night.  Your father and Doc Petes might not always have comm access, but  you can always reach me.”
“Because you have a comm transmitter in your brain?” Sam grinned.
Carver didn’t.  “Something like that.  And don’t think that we are abandoning you.  I will be dropping in to check on you.  And I can be here in a few hours, any time you need me.  Understand?”
Sam nodded, feeling comforted.  “Thanks, Carver.”
He shrugged.  “It’s my job.”
Sam laughed, and hugged him.  He froze for a moment, then patted her back awkwardly.  Carver was not one for affectionate displays.
“I had better get going,” he said, pulling back.
“All right.  I’ll stay here,” Sam replied.  “If I go down to the launch field with you, I’ll just get sad again.”
Carver nodded.
“Let my father and Doc Petes know I’m okay.  I’ll send them a message when I’m all settled in.”
Carver nodded again then offered her another slightly stiff hug in farewell.  Then he was out the door, and Sam was alone.

Sam distracted herself by pulling out her e-journal and programming her class schedule into it.  The device was part diary, part calendar and part research tool.  It was also cutting edge technology she’d gotten thanks to her father’s influence.  It wouldn’t even be available in stores for three more months.
She was contemplating adding a diary entry when the outer door opened.  Drawing in a breath to calm her nerves she stepped forward to meet her new roommate.  But it was not one person waiting in the public room, it was four.  And they were deep in discussion.
“Time travel,” a blonde boy was saying, shaking his head.  “I can’t believe old Prof. Winslow is sticking us with that old saw.”
“I don’t know, Jer,” another boy responded.  He had a vaguely Asian look, but his hair was a vivid shade of purple.  “The philosophical debate is fascinating.”
            “Even if it’s not technically possible?” the only girl put in, flipping her reddish brown braid over her shoulder.
“It’s not possible yet,” the Asian boy retorted.
“It’s just a homework assignment,” the fourth newcomer soothed them, as he closed the door behind them.  “It’s nothing to start a revolution over.”
“Please,” Jer rolled his eyes.  “Skeets would start a revolution over breakfast cereal.”
Skeets was apparently the purple-haired boy, for he made a face back at Jer.
The girl was the first to notice Sam, still hovering in the doorway to the bedroom.  She blinked, then her mouth tilted up in a friendly smile. 
“Hello,” she said.  “Are you my new roommate?”
Sam swallowed, and nodded.  Skeets collapsed on the sofa with a groan.  Jer and the fourth boy offered friendly, if puzzled smiles.
“I’m Samantha.  Sam,” she gave an awkward little wave, not sure what the proper protocol should be.
“I’m Rebecca,” the cinnamon haired girl responded.  “This is Jer, and Skeets and Drew.  I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting you.”
Jer offered his hand, and Sam shook it.  “Nice to meet you,” he said.
Drew mimicked the gesture.  “I don’t know what Becca’s worried about.  She never leaves dirty socks lying around.”
Skeets made no move to leave the couch.  “Ah, man.  We are going to lose our digs.  Where are we going to hang out now?”
Becca shook her head.  “Ignore Skeets.  He’s never happy unless he’s complaining about something.”
“Travesty!  Injustice!  We require a private haven to complete our assigned work.  This is not going to work out, Drew.  I gotta have my space.”
“I think they lost my paperwork,” Sam offered apologetically.  “General Beaurgcheaup certainly seemed surprised to see me.”
“Oh, Porkchop?”  Skeets scoffed.  “He’d forget his nose if it wasn’t stuck to his face.  All his brains go into growing that mustache.”
“Which is not entirely a bad thing,” Drew pointed out.  “We can get a lot more done without the General’s interference.”
“It’s not nice to make fun of Beaurgcheaup’s name,” Becca scolded him.
“Why not?  I make fun of everyone.  I even mock my own name.  You don’t think my parents really named me Skeets, do you?”  This last was directed at Sam, who shrugged uncertainly in response.
Jer shoved Skeets’ feet off the sofa and seated himself, dropping his backpack to the floor with an audible thump.  “You have to tune Skeets out,” he advised Sam.  “He talks a lot of nonsense.”
“Hey, once in a while I have a good idea,” Skeets protested, scooting over to make room for Becca on the center cushion.
“Yeah, but who can tell, when you bury them all in gibberish?”
Skeets opened his mouth to retort, but Drew stopped him with a raised hand.  “Forgive us,” he said.  “We have been a group for over a year now, and we sometimes forget how we must sound to outsiders.”
Sam smiled a little.  “You sound like family to me.”
Skeets rolled his eyes at that. 
Becca laughed.  “Where are you from, Sam?”
“I grew up on one of the polar stations down south,” she answered.  “My mother died last year, and my father didn’t know what to do with me, so he enrolled me here.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Drew murmured, and the others nodded sympathetically.  Sam just shrugged.  “It happens.  What about you guys?”
“Oh, we’re just the poster for diversity,” Skeets answered, oddly serious for him. “Drew here is from the Afric Continent, Jer is from Euro.  I’m Asia, and Becca’s from South Am.”
“Were you assigned this group?” Sam asked.
“It evolved organically,” Jer responded.  “Which is kind of odd, since we all have such diverse interests.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I want to be a pilot,” Becca said.  “And Jer is all about the sciences.”
“I’d like to get into management,” Drew put in, settling himself cross-legged on the floor.  “And Skeets . . .”
“Skeets is all about the tunes,” the purple-haired boy finished, tucking a miniature transmitter into one ear.  “And sketches.  I want to be a cartoonist, a political cartoonist.  Government gets too involved in everything these days.”
“Umm,” Sam was not quite sure how to respond to that.
“Don’t take Skeets too seriously,” Becca advised her.  “He may be a paranoid conspiracy theorist, but at least he admits he’s a paranoid conspiracy theorist.”
Skeets shrugged acknowledgement.  “Hey, someone’s got to do it.  Can’t just let the man have his way all the time.”
“Skeets also spends his time researching every bit of Pre-Fallout trivia and popular entertainment he can find. Which comes in bits and pieces, so it doesn’t make sense half the time.”
“It’s culture, man . . . Culture,” Skeets protested.  “Valuable bits of our planet’s history.”
“Which is why the notion of time travel is so fascinating?” Sam suggested.
“That’s just a class assignment,” Jer told her.  “We’re supposed to come up with a proposal for a time we would visit, if we could—a person we would talk to or an event we would witness if we could.”
“Is this a group project?”
“Yes.  We have to write a paper and make a presentation in front of the class tomorrow.”
“And because Jer and Skeets keep arguing back and forth about time paradoxes and the impossibility of time travel, we’ve wasted a week already.”  Becca added.
“And none of us are very good writers,” Drew added.
Sam went to the bedroom to grab her e-journal and the desk stool.  “Maybe I can help with the writing part,” she offered.  “But what does the presentation entail?”
The other four exchanged glances.
“Prof Winslow didn’t really say,” Skeets answered finally.
“He likes to give really vague assignments, and then grade them based on very specific criteria,” Drew added, with a tone of thoughtful critique.
“It makes it difficult to complete the assignment,” Jer said glumly, “much less get a decent grade.”
“I see.”  Sam opened a blank page in the e-journal and started making notes.  “Well, why don’t we start with the pros and cons of time travel, then?  Jer can cover the reasons why time travel is not currently feasible.  Skeets can offer a summary on why time travel would be a useful tool, if it were feasible—cultural research and all that.”
“I’ve done some reading on time travel research,” Drew offered.  “Theories, mostly, though a few people have actually attempted it.”
“Hey, I’ve got some awesome sketches here,” Skeets passed a pile of papers over to Drew.  “Conceptual ideas of what a time machine might look like.”
Becca took the sketches.  Sam looked over her shoulder.  “Those are really good, Skeets,” the would-be pilot commented.  “I could almost see these flying.  What’s my assignment, Sam?” she added with a grin.
Sam flushed, but Becca just smiled at her expectantly.  “Umm . . . why don’t you consider the ramifications for the people actually going back in time.’
Becca frowned thoughtfully.  “Knowledge of the period they’re going to, to avoid culture shock, different value systems, primitive tools and the like.  Clothing and gear so they could blend in.  You definitely wouldn’t want anyone to know that you came from the future.”
Sam nodded.  “Exactly.  And if you could all give me one time you’d go back to, and why, then I can do the written portion of the assignment.  Is that okay?”
They all stared at her thoughtfully.  Finally Skeets nodded.  “You know, I think I’m glad you’re Becca’s new roommate after all.”

They worked on the task late into the evening.  The curfew reminder, transmitted over speakers set throughout the school’s buildings, was ignored.
“No one ever does curfew checks,” Becca explained, catching Sam’s confused look.  “And the guys know how to sneak back to their room without getting caught.”
Sam nodded.  Apparently this was standard for Milbyrne Academy.  Maybe ignoring curfew was standard everywhere.  She had no way of telling.  She turned her attention back to the written report.  She was cobbling together all the information on places and times the other chose, pulling information from the ‘Net for accuracy and additional detail.  She used the e-journal’s auto-footnoting feature to cite her sources, but would go back to verify them before turning the assignment in.  She typed up notes for the oral presentation, and added them as appendices, along with the sketches Skeets had drawn.
Sam spent time every day writing in her diary, so she was used to doing a lot of typing.  Nevertheless, her fingers were sore and her eyes were stinging by the time they’d finished up.  She passed the e-journal over to Drew and Becca, who looked over what she’d written.
“This is excellent, Sam,” Drew told her.  “How did you know to do this?”
“My mother was a scientist,” she answered, rubbing her eyes.  “She had to submit reports and publish her findings to verify her studies.  I used to help her with it.  This is a lot easier, honestly.  At least I understand everything we wrote tonight.  It sure beats micro-genetics.”
That silenced everyone for a minute.  Then Drew herded the other two out the door.
“We all need our rest.  We still have to get through the presentation tomorrow,” he said.
Becca waved farewell and disappeared into the bedroom.  Sam stopped Drew before he could follow Jer and Skeets down the hall.
“Listen,” she said.  “I shouldn’t be the one telling everyone what they need to do for this project.”
“Why not?  You did great.”
Sam waved dismissively.  “Only because I’ve heard a few groups of scientists panicking the night before a deadline.  Think about it, Drew.  You want to be a manager, right?  Maybe command an air ship or a sea vessel someday?  Own a business?  If you want to do any of that, you need to be able to get people to work together.  You have to be good at assessing people’s strong skills and making those skills work for you.”
Drew stared at her.  “These people are my friends,” he said.  “Not my employees or my subordinates.”
“It doesn’t matter.  They’re part of the group, and you need to encourage them to do what’s good for the group.  Because what’s good for the group is also what’s good for them.”
Drew’s frown deepened.  “Not always.  Becca could get her pilot’s credentials and be gone.  Good for her, but not for the group.  Or Skeets could publish one of his cartoon books.  He has several all drawn, you know.  He keeps them under the bed.”
“Okay, that’s a valid point,” Sam agreed.  “A good leader pushes his people to do their best, and encourages them to follow their dreams.  And he uses their abilities to the benefit of the group, while he can.  Does that sound better?”
Drew took a breath to argue further.  Stopped.  Blinked and said, “Yes, actually. 
That is very reasonable.”
“Just think about it okay?  You don’t have to put your boot on their necks, just plan things a little better so you all don’t end up against a deadline like tonight.”
Drew nodded and went off, his frown thoughtful now.
Sam sighed and closed the door.  Her temples were throbbing.  She glanced at her comm bracelet, which also had a time readout.  It would be morning in North Am.  She had a sudden desire to speak with her father.
Becca came out of the bedroom in a set of long pajamas.  “You got the boys out okay?” she said.
“Yeah.”  Sam hesitated a moment.  “Becca, I have a bit of a headache.  I want to sit up for a bit before I try to sleep.  Is there somewhere . . . private I could sit for a few minutes?  I might keep you up if I stay here.”
“Oh, I sleep like a log,” Becca assured her.  “But if you need privacy, there is a gable just upstairs.  They use it to store old furniture, but it’s quiet up there.  Just take a left in the hall and go up the stairs.  You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks.” 
Becca just nodded and headed back to the bedroom.  Sam followed her directions and found herself in a room full of faded couches and worn comfortable chairs.  She settled on one old chair and sat for a moment, enjoying the quiet.  She genuinely liked her roommate and the boys, but she wasn’t used to being around other young people.  The noise would take some getting used to.
When a few minutes had passed, and the throbbing in her temples eased a bit, she raised the comm bracelet, and entered a comm code.
He answered quickly.  Much sooner than she’d expected, so she was caught without words.
“Hello?  Sam?  Is everything okay?”
She swallowed nervously and responded, “No.  Everything’s fine.  I told Carver I’d call when I got settled, and I saw the time and figured you’d be up, so I thought I’d call now.”
“Oh.  Good.  So you’re settled in all right?  No problems?”
“Well, nothing serious.  They lost all my admissions paperwork, but Carver was prepared for that.  According to Dr. Peters it’s not uncommon.”
“I see.  Did you start classes then?  All settled in your room?”
“Classes start tomorrow.  I have a very nice room, and my roommate is nice as well.  Her name is Becca.”
He let out a breath, and the tension in his voice eased.  “So you’ve made a friend already?”
“Maybe.  There are several possibilities.  Becca has a group project due tomorrow, and I helped them finish it.”
He laughed at that.  “Homework, already?  And you haven’t even been to class yet.  That has to be some kind of a record.”
“I didn’t mind.  It was an interesting topic.  Time travel, actually.”
“Ah.”  His tone changed again, serious now.  “Carver told me about your conversation during the flight.”
Sam made a face.  But she knew Carver would report everything to her father, unless she specifically told him not to.  She shouldn’t be surprised.
“I hope you know . . . I would give anything for you to have your mother back again.”
“Because then you wouldn’t have to deal with me?” Sam snapped before she could stop herself.
“No!”  He paused.  “Well, perhaps that’s part of it.  I’m no good at this father thing yet, and if she was still here, she could maybe . . . help us over the bumps a little.”
“Maybe not.  She wasn’t the world’s most tactful person.”
“I wish I knew how to make this easier for you . . . for both of us.”
“I don’t even know what to call you,” Sam confessed.  “Father is out of the question, but I can’t call you by your first name, and Mr. McDanial is just . . . wrong.”
He let out a sigh.  “It’s rough.  I know.  I’m sorry.”
“Carver said a little distance might be good for us.  Let us get to know each other little by little.”
“That’s what we’re hoping,” he agreed.  “Just . . . Sam, let’s just agree to be honest with each other, even if it’s hurtful.  Maybe we can come to some understanding.”
Sam considered that, her face buried against her drawn-up knees.  “I think,” she said carefully.  “That the standard father-daughter relationship is not going to be possible—at least, not for a very long time.”
Another little sigh.  “That’s probably true,” he admitted.  “Perhaps we could work on . . . becoming friends?  That will give us something to build on, later.  When we’re ready.”
“Agreed.”  Sam almost left it at that, but he wanted honesty.  “I have to say this.  I know it’s not logical, but I do resent the fact that you’re not a normal father.  I know it’s not your fault,” she added, before he could protest.  “But you are not what I dreamed of when I thought about my father.  I am not sure how to deal with it.”
The comm bracelet was silent for a long moment, and she knew her words had hurt him.  But his voice was steady when he responded.  “That’s understandable.  To be honest, I resent the fact that I have a daughter I never knew about.  I had no input in your birth.  Your mother never asked for my opinion or my permission.  I’d like to say I don’t resent you, but I’m not sure that’s true.  I’m trying to get past it, because I have an obligation to you.”
“I don’t want to be an obligation,” she protested softly.
“I know.  I want you to be taken care of.  And I do like you, Samantha.  I am genuinely glad to have you in my life, it’s just . . .”
“Emotions are complicated,” Sam finished for him.
“Yes.”  He drew in a breath, then changed the subject.  “You’ll have to let me know how the project turns out,” he said.  “I’d be interested to see the finished project.”
“Well, most of it is an oral presentation,” she answered, glad to be on a lighter subject.  “But I did write up the report to turn in.  I could send you a copy, if you’d like.”
“I would, Sam.  I definitely would.”
There was a little silence then, that wasn’t awkward at all, for once.  Then Sam heard the school clock tolling the hour, and winced at the time.
“Well, I’d better let you go.  You must have a busy day planned.”
“Yes,” he answered, a bit dryly.  “Lots of boring meetings ahead.  But you should be in bed.  You must be exhausted after the flight, and all.”
“I am tired,” Sam admitted.  “But I couldn’t sleep earlier.”
“But now you can?”
“Now I can.”
“I’m glad.”  And she could tell that he was. 
They signed off on that high note, and Sam went back down the stairs, feeling a strange sense of relief.  They might not have settled anything, but at least they’d felt out a starting point.
True to her word, Becca did not stir as Sam changed into her own pajamas and settled into bed.  Her last thought before sleep overcame her was to hope that her roommate had thought to set an alarm for the morning.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

A Year With God, Day 12 of 366

Today's random verse:  Jeremiah 30:22

"'So you will by my people,
and I will be your God.'"

God wants us to be his people.  He wants to be our God.  And who is the 'you' referring to in this verse?  I don't know, but God does not discriminate based on race.  There is no complicated ritual to be accepted by him, simply:  'If you declare with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved".

I find the complete illogic of the Bible oddly reassuring actually.  There is no possible way for anyone to earn forgiveness.  I don't think I'm a particularly bad person, but I have made mistakes, I have hurt people's feelings, I have contemplated revenge, even if I never acted on it.  I am petty and jealous and greedy at times-- okay perhaps often is more accurate.  And if I am not a particularly bad person, how could anyone manage it?

So if logic tells me that there is no possible way for me to earn forgiveness, or to be a completely good person, then the only way for it to happen is through a divine gift.

And God neither expects nor requires us to be perfect.  He expects us to change our ways, to admit our mistakes and turn away from sin.  He expects us to ask his forgiveness when we do sin, and he is willing to forgive us, as long as we are sincere in our repentence.

God's rules boil down to two things:  To love God, and to love each other.  Nothing could be simpler than that.  Or more complicated.  If we love God, we follow His commands, we seek to do His will and please Him.  And if we love each other, then we work to help each other, not harm each other.  We plan our activities with an eye on what's best for our friends and neighbors, and not solely on what's best for us.  If all men could truly follow those two commands, there would be no war or murder or theivery.

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

A Year With God, Day 11 of 366

So, I had it in mind to talk about gratitude today.  I have come to conclusion that I am not very good at expressing my gratitude.

But how do I thank someone for helping me out?  I lately feel like I am indebted to the entire world, and it's overwhelming to even try to think of thanking everyone who has helped me.

And right now I am having a hard time thinking about it.  I have a headache, I don't feel well, and I am havig to ask for help again . . . from people who have already helped me more than I ever expected.

How do I deal with this?  It makes me sick to have to ask again.  (perhaps literally, though that is most likely a coincidence).  I suppose it's my pride that gets in the way of joyfully accepting the gifts my family and friends have provided me.

But I hate the thought of being a burden.  I know what it is like to put something off that I need because the money has to go elsewhere first.  And now I might be asking others to do exactly that, on my behalf.

I protest that I am trying to find work, so I don't have to ask again.  I say how awful I feel for asking.  I vow every time that this is the last time I will do this.  And yet I somehow seem stuck in the same abyss of neediness.

I know Paul said something about this in one of his letters, but I don't remember which one.  A poor church had sent him generous gifts, when other more prosperous churches had not.  And he knew it to be a hardship for that church, and yet he asked them to send again, for that would be their glory in heaven.  At least, I think that's how it went.

But I am not Paul.  My days are not spent preaching and converting others to Christ.  I am concerned with more mundane tasks, like food on the table, and paying the rent.  Who am I to ask for help?  And who am I to promise rewards in heaven?

I know this must be my lesson in humility from God, but I would dearly love to move on to the lesson that concerns abundant gifts and prosperity.

I spoke a while back about hope.  And Sunday in church, we read Romans 5:3-5, which says to paraphrase-- we should rejoice in suffering, because suffering leads to perserverance, which leads to character, which in turn leads to hope.  We have to suffer to have hope?  That's an odd concept.

But I suppose if we never suffered, we'd have no reason to need hope.

I ended my thoughts on hope with a high note, but the truth is, I'm still muddling through one day at a time, and it doesn't get any easier.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

A Year With God, Day 10 of 366

I was thinking about the Book of Esther last night.  It reminds me a little of the Cindarella story.  A disadvantaged girl goes up against all the beauties of the kingdom, in the hopes of catching the ruler's eye.

There are differences, of course.  Esther was Jewish, rather than than an orphan with two wicked stepsisters.  Instead of a Fairy Godmother, she had her cousin Morecai, and instead of the evil stepmother, there was Haman. 

Still it has more similarities than many 'based on a true story' moves out there.  And in the end, Esther is able to use her position as King Xerxes' queen to save her cousin and their people, thus bringing about the end of Haman's power--and life.  A much better ending, in my opinion than 'they all lived happily ever after.'