Pause

Hello, my wonderful readers. You guys rock! I really appreciate you taking the time to listen to my thoughts on a weekly basis.

Because I am entering a very busy season of time, teaching, preparing to leave for Asia, support-raising, etc. I have decided it would be best for me to take an extended break from this blog.

I hope to resume blogging either this summer or when I head out to language school in China this fall (at which point I'll have lots of interesting Chinese words to weave into my posts!)

Blessing to you all. Go where God takes you!

-Elizabeth

Hatting Freely

"So Christ has truly set us free. Now make sure that you stay free, 

and don’t get tied up again in slavery to the law."

~Galatians 5:1

 

 
Alice leans in to admire the Hatter's creations.

"It is good to be working at my trade again," he says.

"It's just a pity you have to make them for her," replies Alice.

She's right. The Hatter has the freedom to create, to beautifully fulfill his calling as hat-maker. He'd almost forgotten the chain around his ankle; forgotten that he's slaving for the bulbous-headed Red Queen, who prefers to be feared rather than loved.

Recently, I passed the brand-new Mormon temple just south of my city. Arches on arches tier up and pinnacle with a stunning gold Angel Moroni. The commissioners and builders must be proud. And unaware of their invisible ankle-chains.

It's not enough to do what we were made to do. We were designed to offer our talents freely, not under compulsion. That is how we will fulfill our callings in heaven, bringing glory to the One who gave both talents and freedom. Which is why Satan schemes so actively to create passable counterfeits, and why we must refuse to be burdened again by the yoke of slavery.

A! Eh?

Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, 

as faithful stewards of God's grace in its various forms.

-1 Peter 4:10

This week I offer a poem I wrote in 2008. I now find myself on the giving end of grades, and this is a good reminder that As have never been the goal of life.

A! Eh?

Another paper handed back

Like every other day

I hardly glace to see that I received

Another A

Getting grades is bittersweet

A mix of pride and apathy

And, as a result, shame

Feeling the touch of injustice from an unexpected side

What of the others?

Did they not try?

I know they studied just as hard

But I’ve the A. Why?

“Just accept it as a gift”

“Use your mind to save the poor”

Each voice, a different opinion

Each voice, a different blur

I take the gift to the one who gave it

“What would you have me do?

I could use an owner’s manual

To teach me proper care and use.”

A comprehensive manual

You did not have in mind

So I’ll take a lamp to guide my feet

And for the present, write.

-23 November 2008

Payback

For what the Law could not do, weak as it was through the flesh, God did: 

sending His own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh and as an offering for sin, 

He condemned sin in the flesh,

so that the requirement of the Law might be fulfilled in us, 

who do not walk according to the flesh but according to the Spirit.

~Romans 8: 3-4 

"How much did they refund you?" My mom asked.

"$3.74," I grumbled. "But I spent $10.79 for the return shipping. Ugh. I don't want to deal with this anymore."

Through the wonder of modern mass shipping, I had twice been falsely alarmed that my frankincense oil had arrived. When I shipped the erroneous oils back, helpful-customer-service lady had assured me I would be reimbursed.

"What's the difference?" Mom questioned.

"$7.05," I sighed. "I should just say I don't care, just forgive them the seven dollars."

And I did.

But thirty seconds later, I discovered I hadn't. This is silly, Elizabeth, it's just seven dollars. Let it go. But it wasn't fair, and somehow my heart needed it to be rectified.

"I really just don't want to deal with asking them for the extra postage. It's been such a hassle already," I responded to Mom's unasked question.

"You really like that company, don't you? I don't want you to have bad feelings about them. What if I gave you the $7.05 instead of them. Would that help?"

"No, that's silly. But...actually...that might work."

I laughed at myself as Mom dug around her black purse for three bills and five elusive pennies.

"I hereby present this to you in the name of your oil company." She bowed slightly as she gifted me the cash.

"And I accept it on their behalf," I smiled.

As silly as it seemed, her gift really did make all the difference. My heart was satisfied that life was fair. And I bought more oils from my company.

*****

Because the sinless Savior died
My sinful soul is counted free.
For God the just is satisfied
To look on Him and pardon me.

Sickness!

Sorry I have not posted yet this week. 

I have been out of commission with sickness. 

I will post again next week!

Safety Thunder

The LORD thundered from heaven;

 the voice of the Most High resounded amid the hail and burning coals.

~Psalm 18:13

I wrote this piece in 2009.

I love thunderstorms. They make me feel comfortable and safe and perfectly peaceful.

           

When I was young, perhaps 4 or 5 years old, thunderstorms were enough to occasion family meetings. No planning, no finding time around too-crowded schedules, no set time to leave. When God started bowling, we all went out to watch.

Thunder was the sound of God’s bowling ball smacking his heavenly pins. The lightning flashes, of course, were the sparks from this collision. It took time for the sound to get here, my Dad informed me: a sort of semi-truth mixed with myth. God always made strikes. Looking back, I can’t see how I ever reconciled the bowling theory with my equally firm belief that rain was God taking a shower. Perhaps he just left the water running.

When God made his first strike, I assume that, like most children, I was frightened and ran to my mom. But once with her, all was well. Better than well, for the thunder meant that it was time to gather all the blankets carelessly strewn among the couches and toys in the family room and create a nest on our covered porch. With her back to the house, my mom would cuddle me in her lap. Dad would hold my hand, his other arm wrapped around Mom’s shoulders. Sometimes my sisters or brother would come too, but my Mom and Dad are the immovable pillars of the scene.

I am sure that with the wind driving the rain at a slant, my parents’ feet got soaked through the blankets. But they never complained and I never knew. All I knew was that thunder meant warmth, thunder meant family, thunder meant safety.