Late spring or early summer walks give me a chance to see things coming alive again after the long winter months. Little by little trees begin to show green on the dead looking branches and spring flowers take turns surprising me with their colors if I am observant. By the beginning of June, I can tell which shrubs, bushes, and perennials have weathered the winter months well but some of our rose bushes are still a bit slow to show us. It’s not always clear if something is alive or dead.

Whether a relationship is thriving, or dead can also be hard to determine many times. Too often we are good at feigning the state of a relationship to avoid the truth of its condition or avoid hard questions from others who observe us. We can get so used to doing it that we barely notice. But there is something amiss if that is true.

If any relationship is alive there will be “life” in it. It will show the evidence of that in more than one or two ways. You know a relationship is current by the actions, energy, body language, tone of voice, and more. It will not be perfect, and it will also not be static.

Grape vines in our area look like they are alive at the present time, but it will be hard to tell for many weeks whether there will be grapes showing up. They are not “in season” until very late summer and the size or quality of the fruit will still be in question for some weeks and months except to the knowledgeable vinedresser and vintner. It always reminds me to be careful when I am looking for fruit in a relationship or the life of another person pursuing Christ. Perhaps there has been significant pruning and the vines will rest longer before they show the benefits of this cutting away of both dead and living vines so they will produce more fruit.

I began to consider this a bit more as I was reading about what the book of Revelation says about the church at Sardis – having a reputation of being alive but dead. What did that mean or look like? Could it be true of us today?

“It was dead because it excluded the everyday world. It gave an impression of vigor … but the sharp line it drew between everyday life and holy-day life…”

Eugene Peterson in This Hallelujah Banquet

They appear to have restricted holiness or the holy life to their times together in church versus seeing how He moves throughout the everyday life and situations we face. If we look at the life of Christ it seems evident that He did not intend that our relationship with Him be confined to a worship service (no matter how energetic it might appear).

I think the challenge for us is what does our faith and belief look like Monday through Saturday, not because we are carrying around a Bible and sharing scripture verses with any and all we meet but rather because our convictions and commitment is a lived truth. No matter we are picking up coffee at our favorite coffee shop, working at our job, grocery shopping, or participating in a committee meeting, do we look like we bear Christ’s image in how we respond, how we love, and how we make decisions? Is his Holy Spirit active and alive within us then? Do we nurture intimacy with Him when we are not in worship services or formalized ministry activities?

“If God has spirit, then God is not simply an idea or an abstraction. It is popular to say that God is an idea of beauty or of love or of truth. Whatever is beautiful or lovely or truthful is God. That is a nice sentiment but poor theology. God is personal and deeply alive.”

Eugene Peterson in This Hallelujah Banquet

Have we forgotten that God, Jesus, is a person?

“If God has spirit, he cannot be dealt with as an object. He must be confronted as a person. A living, personal being demands relationship. I can arrange books, rooms, clothing, and even work, but I must live with persons. They resist being put in their place. They refuse to be arranged and manipulated. They must be talked to. There must be an exchange of feelings with them. I have heard the phrase “We must leave a place for God in our lives.” This is a nice idea if it would work, but it won’t, because God has spirit. He will not be confined to a place. He is a living being with whom we must live. This is part of what it means to say that God has spirit. It means fundamentally that we have the perfection of a living God in our midst.”

Eugene Peterson in This Hallelujah Banquet

If we have accepted Christ, his spirit is alive and active in us and if we try to confine his involvement to our worship services we will be more like the church at Sardis. They considered themselves to be church members because they continued to come to worship but ceased being actively full of life in every aspect of daily life.

God wants a vibrant relationship with us whether we are seated in a pew or at a ballgame, attending a concert or sitting at the bedside of someone who is ill. If that happens our lives will be fruitful.

“The world is one single whole. It’s holy. We divide it into areas marked out for God and areas marked out for ourselves. We call churches sacred and playgrounds secular. We have places where we pray and others where we play. But our compartments desecrate the way things are supposed to be; the earth is the Lord’s.”

Eugene Peterson in This Hallelujah Banquet

This weekend we pause to pay tribute to our fathers. We remember them through the lens of our childhood and all the years after that. The lens may color those memories in all shades and colors because none of our dads were perfect. They were first of all men, born with a blend of each of their parents, seasoned with the family life they experienced, and mixed with their own skills, gifts, personalities, and interests. Today I replay a bit about my own father.

Depending on how those things were stirred and combined throughout their lifetime, they became the dad we knew. We may have idealized them or berated them for the ways they disappointed us, wounded us, or abandoned us. We may never have even known them except through the stories and eyes of someone else.

Nevertheless, they became one who influenced our own selves and who we are today, whether good, bad, or somewhere in between.

My own father was born as the youngest of six children, one of only two boys. His older brother could have been his father since he was nineteen years older than he. In many ways, he became a model for my dad because his dad, my grandfather, died when my dad was only five years old. He was so young that he didn’t have any real memories of his dad.

He grew up on the farm where the family lived with a keen awareness of how hard his older brother, four older sisters, and mother had to work. He grew up with those values and that kind of work ethic. He also grew up with a considerable appetite for learning and education as well as a commitment to the Lord.

At age thirteen, something happened that changed the direction of his life forever. His older brother fell from the barn roof one day and was killed. With this tragedy came two very difficult things. My dad was needed at home to step into the role of his older brother to handle the farm and he would need to leave school and his love of formal education behind.

Since the farm he grew up on (as did I) was adjacent to farms of his uncles, they stepped in to help mentor him in the things he needed to learn for the survival of the farm and his family. His sharp mind and courageous heart soon became a hallmark of his character. Not only did his own family and extended family respect him, everyone in the community did as well.

His social life centered around his church and “the Grange”. I have more than a few memories of the stories he told about them and how he met my mother and postponed marriage until he could stop using his beloved team of horses to help him farm and purchase a tractor.

Even though loss had marked his life early, he never showed anger or embitterment. His gentle voice and quiet ways gave glimpses of the heart shaped by the Lord’s love for him who became the only father he would ever really know.

That heavenly Father would stand with him through the death of his first child a day after his birth. He would be there when his second son was born with several handicaps and disabilities. He would walk with him through job loss and the shame that clung to him as a result of never being able to finish high school.

Yet all these things he suffered forged his character and values that went deep into the soil worked up and fertilized by the Word he read daily. They created the unwavering commitment for me to be educated and go to college even when there was no evidence of the financial provision to do so.

His life was marked by his focus on his faith. His legacy is remembered as one of great integrity and considerable faith.

He was not a perfect man, but the One whom he trusted early in life paved the way for this fatherless boy. This One understood more than any of us can comprehend the meaning of the word “sacrifice”.

This Father’s Day I will remember his humor, the stories of an era long gone, the beauty of his singing voice as I stood beside him in church, and how he loved my mother. I will also remember the shape and feel of his hand when I held it and sought to memorize it as he lay dying twenty-nine years ago.

It has been said that a true hero cannot be measured by the size of his strength, but by the strength of his heart.

The strength of my father’s heart grew throughout his lifetime as the Lord he loved continued to put more and more of Himself into him. That will also always remind me of the sacrifice of the Father who is perfect and walks with and strengthens my own heart each day by sacrificing his own son for my sake.

“This is how much God loved the world: He gave his Son, his one and only Son.” John 3:16 The Message

I remember so well that day some years ago when I walked down the hall at the hospital holding my grandson’s hand. What excitement and anticipation I was feeling as we went to look at his new little sister on the other side of the glass!

All the bassinets were lined up in a row facing the glass so that everyone could get a better look at these new little ones. We had both seen her the previous day, but we were back for another visit to continue to get acquainted with this new little lady with the dark hair and round cheeks.

As we stood there, my grandson inched up closer on tiptoes, holding onto the ledge at the front of the window watching his new sister as she lay sleeping. He wanted to see as much as he could even though he could not yet imagine how this sleeping beauty would change his world.

No matter what our age, there are times we all stand on our tiptoes. Most of the time, we do so because we want to be certain not to miss something, something very special.

I remember standing on tiptoes to see Santa Claus at a Christmas parade, to reach a particular book on the library shelf, to catch a glimpse of a bird’s nest resting on a tree branch near my front porch.

I also remember standing on tiptoes to give someone I love a kiss, to watch my children march into our local high school stadium for graduation, and to catch the first glimpse of the plane that carried my husband back home after fourteen months in a war zone.

When I stand on tiptoes, my heart flutters with expectation at seeing or experiencing something special that I do not want to miss. I wait for a first glimpse, a first touch, and a first sound. Everything else in my life gets suspended as I push the pause button to experience this moment. All my focus strains forward.

As I read the gospels, so often Jesus was followed or surrounded by large crowds. Certainly, many stood on tiptoes to see Him better, to hear Him more clearly, to discover who this man was, to not miss this moment. He was right there. They could see Him and hear Him. There were many who touched Him. Some came to know Him.

Even though I was not in the crowd then, I came to know Him also. Jesus is not here in person, but I read about the promise of His return.

Am I standing on tiptoes looking for Him, listening for His voice, anticipating His return?

He lives within my heart.

Each day I seek to sense His voice within me to live the day as He would want, but too often the tasks of the day dull my senses to the anticipation and excitement of seeing Him return, of hearing His voice audibly, of seeing the look in His eyes.

Today as I recalled that day at the nursery window with my grandson, I felt a flutter inside and realized that I want to be standing on tiptoes filled with anticipation when He returns. I don’t want to miss a thing about that moment!

What about you?

Are you standing on tiptoes?

What are you anticipating?

What do you want to see and hear?

Are you listening?

A short time ago a little book arrived in the mail unsolicited. I was reading several other things at the time and set it aside but when I began to read its pages I was impacted by the truth of Matthew Kelly’s words. He reminds us that it is in the small moments of life that we have the greatest opportunities and are often impacted the most. 

If you have a store of memories you can reflect on them, you will likely discover that despite all the effort and work spent on major goals and events in your life and the many people on your memory’s pages it is usually the little moments in time you recall. Despite that we don’t live life that way much of the time. Matthew Kelly reminds us of how we can impact those around us in the simple moments we race through without  a lot of thought.

We may think we want or need to find a more meaningful life so we can live life to the fullest and somehow make a difference for having been here. 

Holy Moments begins with a prologue of a fascinating tale about monks in a monastery that I won’t detail here telling of the transformation of the monastery monks. It wasn’t what you expect. When a woman approaches the Abbot to ask him what has brought about the transformation and how it happened since now it was a place full of great joy, he answered, “We started living as if the Messiah were among us.”  

The woman pondered his story and then asked the Abbot what advice he had for her. His answer: “Treat every person you ever meet like the second coming of Jesus in disguise.”

None of us steward every moment or even every day well but how much different they might be if we took those words as ones to live by. None of us can thrive or know joy if we live a meaningless life but finding meaning doesn’t need to be a grand goal of one kind or another. 

Kelly shares a quote by the South African author Laurens van der Post: “There is ultimately only one thing that makes human beings deeply and profoundly bitter, and that is to have thrust upon them a life without meaning. There is nothing wrong in searching for happiness. But of far greater comfort to the soul is something greater than happiness or unhappiness, and that is meaning. Because meaning transfigures all. Once what you are doing has meaning for you, it is irrelevant whether you’re happy or unhappy. You are content.”

Our choices of the moments we are given each day can bring meaning in the smallest and simplest thing if we consider the words of the Abbot to the woman. After all, though we can chart our spiritual lives over time, the actual choice to believe in God happened in a moment and that changed everything. If we get disconnected from Him through the daily grind or duties that are ours, life can become meaningless and we can risk feeling like gerbils running on a treadmill.

“There is a moment at the end of each day, when we lay our heads on our pillows.  Our bodies are tired, our minds relax, and our egos let go. It is a solitary moment. If we listen carefully in that moment, we will discover where we stand. Where we stand with God, where we stand with those we love, and where we stand with our truest self. That moment never lies. It reveals meaning or meaninglessness of our lives.”

Matthew Kelly in Holy Moments

With a background for the theme of this little 116-page book, the author describes what makes our choices into “holy” choices: “A Holy Moment is a single moment in which you open yourself to God. You make yourself available to Him. You set aside personal preference and self-interest, and for one moment you do what you prayerfully believe God is calling you to do.”

Doing so will guide us to master the moment of decision that makes all the difference. 

We are constantly making choices throughout the day and none of us are born being great at doing it. We learn (often the hard way) how to become better at it.

“Decision making is a powerful force in our lives. Our decisions quite literally shape our lives. We make the future with our choices.” 

Matthew Kelly in Holy Moments

Holy Moments takes the reader on a thought filled and challenging look at these themes and how we can develop “spiritual intelligence” that can shape our life by giving us a new trajectory and deeper meaning.

This is not a short book to dash through in one sitting but rather one to read in moments of time so we reflect and consider the author’s words. (I read it in small bites as part of my daily devotional time.) If you do, it can transform the next moment you make a decision.

Some of us love new things that are shiny, unblemished, and in  ‘mint condition.’ We delight in the smell of a new car when you first step inside, sit down, and close the door. Freshly painted walls or newly installed ceramic tile or carpet make us smile with appreciation. A new pencil and an unused eraser tucked in a pencil holder on our desk amid other used ones is something to delight in.

My mother was someone who loved new things that were the latest invention. I recall her eagerness to get a new set of Melmac dinnerware when they were in vogue, setting aside her beautiful set of ‘depression glass dinnerware’ as out of fashion. Antiques were never her preference.

Some of us enjoy wandering through antique shops looking for that hidden treasure that isn’t blemish free, but shows the workmanship of years ago and evidence of being used and enjoyed. Some items to us are better if the paint is scuffed and chipped or a brass decoration is tarnished.

My parents had a dry sink that had seen a variety of uses since first purchased long before I was born. By the time I saw it, it was covered with a sickly green paint and sat in my parents’ garage where it was used for garden fertilizer and various small tools.

As we were clearing out the garage after my parents’ deaths, my husband planned to add it to a huge pile of things to be burned on what had been the garden. Despite its condition I was still fond of it since it was connected to some of my earliest memories and stopped that from happening. I saw some worth in it.

I contacted a former teacher friend of mine who did restorations and asked him to assess its worth. The figure he quoted astonished us. When I told him I would like him to refinish and restore it to its original condition, he said he would be glad to do so while noting it was valuable just as it was from the perspective of someone who knew more than we did about antiques.

Whatever our perspective about material items, we also make judgments about ourselves in physical appearance, skill level, gifting, and more.

Most of us want to look and be our best and would prefer others not see those parts of us (in any area) that are less so. The scars of our lives are too often devalued as things that diminish us somehow. We compare ourselves to others and our perspective on what we believe is their nearly perfect condition causes us to forget they are working as hard as everyone else to be seen as “having it all together.” We often don’t see what lays beneath what we see on the surface.

We intellectually know that perfection is not attainable, but there is much we don’t want showing (not unlike desiring not to see the edge of a slip below a hemline of some years ago).

But life happens to us all and illness, accidents, financial losses, moral failures, and more become a part of our story even though we would wish otherwise. When things come crashing in and we lose our footing, to whom do we turn then?

Paradoxically it is the person we know whose own life has been less than perfect, the person who may not have the newest car, the highest salaried position, or the most perfectly behaved children. Our perspective has altered.  It’s this less than perfect person we are drawn to. This is the one to whom we are more apt to share our defeat rather than the person who has appeared flawless. This is the one whose nicks and dents have produced persistence and wisdom. This is the one who has something to offer us.

That contradiction may come because the person whose life is marred in some way can offer what the flawless person cannot. It is then we recognize the value of an imperfect life. It can speak to us as a flawless life seldom can.

“It’s those little nicks and dents and imperfections of spirit that allow us to flow out into a thirsty world. It’s our scars that allow us to relate to the scars of others, our suffering that connects us to others who suffer.”  

Lisa Wingate in The Language of the Sycamores