Why is it ok for God to kill?

This week's "Ask Pastor John" piece from Desiring God is brilliant. This is often a question raised by atheists in their arguments against Christianity, and I think John Piper answers the reader question beautifully.

The Sacrifice of Silence

All too often in my life I have regretted things I've said. I've reacted too quickly, spoken too soon, and aimed to wound. And I've been around people that struggle all too much with this same issue. We all do.

That's why I really enjoyed the article on Boundless this week called The Sacrifice of Silence. It's written by Laurel Robinson and she talks about what sacrificing one's right for an immediate reply or defense can produce in terms of peace and godliness.

I didn't sacrifice anything for Lent this year, but this is something that I'm going to pray for myself about. With the season of life that I'm in, I'm often feeling the need to prove to some people who I am, or defend my actions and decisions. It's an endless source of anxiety and sadness for me. I'm praying that I will have the wisdom to know when to speak and when to hold my tongue, that I will ever quick to listen and slow to speak.

I'm praying this for you, too.

Here are some excerpts. Enjoy!

This Lent, a friend of mine committed to a practice I found fascinating: she vowed to refrain from rushing to explain and defend herself, even when she felt she might not be fully understood. This discipline was inspired by the well-known prayer attributed to St. Francis, which includes the line: "O, Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek ... to be understood as to understand."

Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry, for man's anger does not bring about the righteous life that God desires. (James 1:19)

Since Ash Wednesday, Marie has been attempting to submit herself to this discipline daily, particularly with Gary, her husband of three years. The results at home were almost instantaneous. The first time Gary said something that Marie felt was "snide" toward her, she remained silent. Normally, she might have retorted with a scornful remark or with an indignant "that was rude!" Then, the argument would have escalated, and the next two hours would have been robbed of joy, tainted by coolness toward one another.

After a few moments of her prayerful silence, Gary apologized for his statement. Marie was shocked. He had seldom apologized lately. He knew his words had been hurtful, and her silence gave him the chance to reconsider. Instead of the all-too-common bitterness, there was a relative calm, and the two were able to continue to enjoy one another's company.

James wrote to his fellow believers, "Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry, for man's anger does not bring about the righteous life that God desires (James 1:19)." Frankly, words spoken thoughtlessly do not bring about a righteous life, either. They only distract others or puff us up with pride or self-importance.

Ecclesiastes 3:7 reminds us that there is a proper time for every activity, including "a time to be silent and a time to speak." Surely there are times when it is brave, and prudent, and right to speak up: to defend an innocent person, or to speak the truth boldly to people who are deluded by a lie. However, I wonder how many times in a week the "speaking up" we do is for our own benefit and comfort

A long lost favorite

I recently took some time to sort through all the photos I have on my computer... dating back to as early as January, 2008.

To my delight, I discovered a photo of what was once my favorite painting in the entire world...

When I first started attending a church, I idolized my youth pastor, Ryan. He was the coolest person in the entire world. Without a doubt.

And he had the coolest office in the world, as well. It was a loft, up in the far corner of the church... far away from the hustle and bustle. I used to love sitting up there in an old beat-up rocker, chatting with him and throwing darts. It's where he kept his cool computer, his cool guitar, his cool library, and, at times, his cool girlfriend.

He had the above painting hanging in that office, and I always loved it. You can't tell from the awful, slightly-fuzzy photo I took, but it really was quite lovely... bold shades of blue and black, the paint shoveled on so thick that it stood out from the canvas, bumpy, alive.

Several years after my youth pastor left to pursue a career in carpentry, I was hired as an intern to work with the youth at the same church. I was given the option of what office I wanted, and I knew instantly that I wanted to excavate Ryan's old office from under the 2 years of cumulated church junk, rubble, and un-wanteds. It took me almost a week... but I was so pleased with the finished product.

There was only one thing missing: a painting. This church happened to have a large number of artists in attendance, and many of them stored their artwork in the building. I was handed the keys to several walk-in closets full of paintings to choose one for my work space.

I spent an entire glorious afternoon sitting cross-legged in closets and sorting through beautiful things.

And then I found it. That same old painting I had always adored. I happily carted it up and off to my little room, where it remained until the end of my internship.

So there you go, that's the story. And there's the painting.

Poem Sunday - Feb 21st '10

The Minuet - Mary Mapes Dodge

Grandma told me all about it,

Told me so I couldn't doubt it,

How she dances, my grandma danced; long ago -

How she held her pretty head,

How her dainty skirt she spread,

How she slowly leaned and rose - long ago.

Grandma's hair was bright and sunny,

Dimpled cheeks, too, oh, how funny!

Really quite a pretty girl - long ago.

Bless her! why, she wears a cap,

Grandma does, and takes a nap

Every single day: and yet

Grandma danced the minuet - long ago.

"Modern ways are quite alarming,"

Grandma says, "but boys were charming"

(Girls and boys she means, of course) "long ago."

Brave but modest, grandly shy;

She would like to have us try

Just to feel like those who met

In the graceful minuet - long ago

Not in Vain - Emily Dickinson

If I can stop one heart from breaking,

I shall not live in vain:

If I can ease one life the aching,

Or cool one pain,

Or help one fainting robin

Unto his nest again,

I shall not live in vain.

Hard Boiled

Next to the fabulous avocado, this is my perfect salad food. Not over done, very yellow-orange (the more orange the better) and oh-so-nice to have any time of day. If you ask me, a properly cooked egg is the true test of a cook. I'm still working on my frying technique but this even I can do!

My Perfect Hard Boiled Egg

6 eggs

1 pot

salt

cold water

Gently place eggs into the bottom of your pot and fill with cold water until eggs are covered with about an inch of water. Place on stove and bring to a soft rolling but not wild boil. (Too much jostling will crack your eggs.) Let it boil for 2-3 minutes then cover and remove from heat. Allow them to stand for 30 minutes undisturbed. Tip: Set a timer or you'll forget about them! Rinse with cool water and enjoy alone with a few pinches of salt, as the finishing touch to the perfect salad, or place them in the refrigerator for later eating.

Manliness

Today, as I sat in a very public and crowded place, I overheard a conversation between two twenty-something guys. One was tucking into a Subway sandwich, taking bites that were worryingly large, and obviously enjoying the experience, while the other sat with his head in his hands, looking as though his heart was broken... and, in fact, it was.

It was loud, and I was concentrating on homework, so I heard snippets of their conversation at best, but the overall theme was that the sad one was relaying the story of a recent (and still very painful) breakup, while the sandwich-eater was supposed to be providing some sort of comfort and/or therapy.

After what was, I assume, a particularly shocking part of the story, the teller paused (presumably for dramatic effect). His friend looked up from his meal, realized he was expected to say something, and said between munches, "I'm so sorry man. Here, eat this." Then he tossed a tiny and rather slimy looking green pepper slice half-heartedly across the table.

They both burst into uproarious laughter, the kind that is only borne forth by sheer hilarity. All was well.

I've thought since then about the difference between men and women. If it had been two girls sitting at that table, things would have been very different. The story would have lasted for hours. Every detail would have been told, and then scrutinized - poked, prodded, analyzed from every angle. There would also have been much more touching... several hugs, hand holdings, and shoulder pats would be expected.

I've been reading in the past few months about what biblical womanhood looks like. It's been a incredibly rewarding time of study of me, and I've grown in my understanding of my role as a Christian woman, and how the God-given traits that make men and women different, compliment and uplift one another.

I'm so saddened to see how those biblical gender roles have slipped away in recent years, and how we as a society are suffering as a result.

Which leads me to introduce a recently discovered website that is so cool that I almost (almost) wish I was a man so I could enjoy it more - The Art of Manliness.com, dedicated to "reviving the lost art of manliness". If you are a man, and wanting to become a better one (I joke), check it out!

Now, this site is not Christian, however I do believe it touches on part of what has been lost with the assimilation of women into male roles, and the assimilation of men into females ones. Men love to provide for, protect, and lead their families. But what happens when women reject those desires in favor of providing for, protecting, and leading themselves?

My favorite article so far is The Ultimate Straight Razor Shaving Guide. Now, that's a skill!

I'm hitting midterms, so free time is nearly non-existant, but I hope to write more about these issues soon!

Just as a note, this blog is now regularly viewed by 50-odd people! Thanks so much for your support and interest (especially the thought-provoking and complimentary emails). I appreciate you all so much :)

Cemeteries Part II

This is Part II of 'Cemeteries'. Read Part I here.

Ok, I'm going to try and articulate this once again. Every time I've tried so far, I've felt that my explanation has fallen short. Hopefully this time...

My earliest memory of a cemetery is of one in Vancouver, where we gathered to bury a relative. I remember my grandma taking me and showing me the plots she had already bought - the place where she and my grandfather would be buried. It was such an odd feeling to look down at that grassy bit of land and know what would one day lie beneath it. I'd imagine it would be an even stranger experience for her, however my warrior of an Oma has never been one to flinch at death. In fact, she's always discussed it openly and freely. Perhaps this has contributed to my lack of fear surrounding it all.

Since then I haven't been to many graveyards. I've taken the odd walk through one with a parent, and while in Europe I toured some of the more historic graveyards... Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, Isaac Charles Darwin , St. Francis of Assisi, and the like. It has been saddening at times, but never frightening.

Then last year, at a time and for a reason that is forgotten, I made a trip to Ross Bay Cemetery by myself one afternoon. Maybe it was just curiosity. I wandered through the sun-dappled grounds, and finally came to rest in the shade of a tree where I read the Bible (James if I remember correctly) for an hour or so before continuing on with my day. It was a glorious way to spend my time, there is a quiet and peace to be found in cemeteries that I've been unable to achieve elsewhere. A sense of depth and meaning. Hundreds of years of laughter, tears, longing, dreams... and memories.

Since that day, I've returned to Ross Bay maybe four or five times. Why? Besides from the above, let me try to explain:

I don't know about you, or anyone else for that matter, but I'm often so caught up in my day-to-day life that I forget the big picture. What is the purpose of our lives here? Well, the Westminster Shorter Catechism says "the chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever". Think about that. It's so simple, so wonderful. It's exactly right. I know this, and I desire to do this more than anything else.

But... somehow, I forget. This morning I woke up and my 'chief end' was to get to the library to finish a project that's worth 50% of a certain final grade. I did the minimum for my morning devotions, scarfed down a banana, and was out the door. Last week my 'chief end' was to just get through the week, trying desperately to keep my head above water with all this homework raining down.

It's so easy to get wrapped up in the daily stresses and worries of each day. In our culture, everything is in fast forward! We rush from place to place, always harried and haggard, never enough time, never enough money, never enough belongings. More, more, more. It seems to me that there's no time to think.

I know that I should be meditating on the nature and character of my wonderful heavenly Father, that I should study the Word, serve in the church, and reach out to the unsaved. But instead I race about, grasping for something that always seems out of reach. When I get this semester done, then I'll be happy. When I graduate, then I'll have time to study the Word more in depth. When I'm a missionary, then I'll serve the Lord with every ounce of my being. When I'm married with children, then I can fully put others ahead of myself. I always feel discontent here and now, and I always feel like what will fulfill me is just ahead in my future.

That thinking is wrong. And when I wander through a cemetery, reading the abandoned and weather-worn gravestones, I remember.

Every achievement in this life is for nothing, apart from the goal of glorifying and enjoying the Father. Your new car, your lovely home, your great job, your full bank account - Everything this world praises is all for nought.

I see this when I read those gravestones. An entire person's life, from beginning to end, all their laughter, joys, sorrows, heartbreaks, worries, and tears, are all summed up in the words:

JOHN MCDOYLE 1902-1989 BELOVED HUSBAND, FATHER, AND SON. That's all.

In the cases of some women, there's even less...

AND JANE MCDOYLE, WIFE OF THE ABOVE.

Your entire life, forgotten. Everything we strive for and are so proud of obtaining throughout our lives is forgotten within a generation. Maybe our kids remember, then our grandchildren remember half... then, nothing.

So why do we bother? What's the point of working our knuckles to the bone for things that don't last? Storing up treasures here on earth, instead of in heaven.

That's what my time in these places helps me grasp. It helps me grasp that I will one day die. So will you. And what do we want to leave behind us? What do we want to be remembered for? What's worth pursuing - what truly has value?

One of the gravestones I walked by the other day made me laugh out loud at the inscription on it's face.

JONATHAN KLEISMAN (don't know if that was actually the name)

19__ - 19__ (forget the dates)

RESPECTED FUNERAL DIRECTOR

Is that really all they could think of writing? Was there no loved ones? No achievements besides that? It got me thinking...

I want to leave children that I've raised in the 'fear and admonition of the Lord', that serve and love the Father long after I'm gone; a faithful wife and loving mother.

I want to be remembered as a servant of Christ, someone willing to follow His leading despite it's cost to my own personal happiness or comfort.

I want to leave a body of believers that I've blessed through my ministry and constant prayers.

I want to be remembered as a one who had a heart for the lost, a woman that reached out to the suffering, and declared the saving Gospel of Jesus Christ boldly in every circumstance.

I DON'T want to be remembered for the nice house I lived in, the stylish way in which I furnished it, the lovely clothes I wore, or whether or not I used a Mac or a PC.

But even these things will be forgotten. In the end, all that matters, all that I desire to the very depth of my being, is to spend eternity singing praises in the presence of my Lord and Savior. In the end, the only praise I desire to ever hear are the words, "Well done, good and faithful servant.... Enter into the joy of your Lord." (Mat 25:21).

Now if I could only live like it!

Where are your priorities?

Poem Sunday - Feb 1st '10 FAVORITES

Okay, so YES, this is terribly late (or extremely premature... you

pick)! But this is a special one so it took a little more planning

than usual. I received an email from a reader recently asking who

my favorite poet is, and I thought I'd answer that this week... and

why not make it all about favorites, then?

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud - William Wordsworth (Favorite Flower)

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of gold daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretch in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they

Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;

A poet could not be but gay,

In such a jocund company!

I gazed - and gazed - but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills.

And dances with the daffodils.

The Road Not Taken - Robert Frost (Favorite Poem)

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that, the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I marked the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Stopping By Woods on a Snowing Evening -

Robert Frost (Favorite Poet... but this changes by the day)

Whose woods there are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound's the sweep

Of the easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

Primavera - Vivaldi

(Favorite Classical Music Piece... and Composer)

The best part starts 28 seconds in... I can almost see the

flowers blooming. If you click on the video to open it

on YouTube, Spring II and Spring III are in the Related Videos

sidebar. Check them out and love them with me!

There is a Fountain Filled With Blood

(Favorite Hymn to Sing When I'm Alone)

I have many more beloved favorites... but I'm dreadfully tired!

I've got the flu everyone's been trying to avoid. Thank you for

sharing with me these things that bring me so much joy.