Drat.

I hate cancer. HATE it. It strikes so indescriminately: old and young, rich and poor, healthy and feeble, evil and righteous. When people question how God can allow suffering, they're talking about cancer, among other things.

I know God can redeem any situation. I know he can build character in bad circumstances, reach the unreached through the suffering of the rescued, put a silver lining in any cloud.

But why are there always clouds?

I know he loves us, cares for us, died for us. In my head, in my heart, I know and believe.

But I still question. Why?

Job had questions. God had answers, but not the ones Job wanted. Whenever someone gets diagnosed, I go to Job. I don't find comfort in the questions, but in the answers which basically say, "Who are you to ask these things? Did you make the world? The sky? The sea? Then put your hand over your mouth and stop talking. Better to not say anything and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt."

I know, it's not comforting in a traditional sense, but to hear God tell us we can't possibly understand what we're asking much less what his reasons are makes me feel better for some reason.

I covet your prayers for Larry and for Joanne this week. Larry's at the end of his fight. Joanne's at the beginning of her 3rd round. Both are right with God and a whole lot stronger than I am. I want to take the pain away, but they both face it bravely.

Resolutions

When we moved back to America, we made two resolutions as a family.

1) We promised ourselves we wouldn't get involved in too many activities, especially at night.

2) We determined not to let discussions of how the church should or should not be, or how Christians should or should not act, overshadow talking about Jesus.

Time to assess our success or failure...

1) It's hard to live in America with kids and not get involved in some evening activities. All in all, though, we're home about as many nights as we're out. Now I need to re-resolve to make sure our time at home is used wisely, but I can't make that resolution until this round of the Amazing Race and Survivor are over.

2) This is a toughie. I spend a lot of my energy fretting about how to change situations and people I have no control over. I let myself fall into less challenging conversations with people I know will mostly agree with me. It's time to refocus my words on important topics. It's time to hand over the stuff I can't change and let God work his wonders without my help.

Hallmark Religion

We have a birthday celebration this weekend for 5 people who camp with us over 4th of July weekend each year (including 2 of my kids!), so I had to stock up on birthday cards. I got the card for the sweet sixteen and for the toddler boy, but needed one for the grown up lady. My eyes roamed to the "religious birthday" section and I picked up a sweet looking card to read it.

Front: On your birthday, may God bless you with the greatest blessing of all.

Inside: Birthday cake.

Really? It's probably supposed to be a joke that got mis-filed under religion, but in a way, that's kind of how people seem to treat their faith. It's fluffy and fun and all about instant gratification with no thought to consequences.

Oh, Hallmark, God has so much more to offer than birthday cake.

Listen!

I couldn't sleep last night. All my ideas and projects and things to do drove me from my bed. After working on a couple of things, I curled up with a blanket in the recliner and tried to rest.

Tick.

Tock.

The living room clock and the dining room clock played ping pong with each other. Back and forth. Back and forth.

I don't hear these sounds very often. The quiet click is drowned out by the noise of life - kids, TV, music, talk. Yet underneath the clatter, the clocks mark time, steadily and silently doing their job whether I take any notice or not.

In the craziness of December, I want to remember the clocks. Not for their sake, but as a reminder that God is constant. He doesn't scream for attention, but speaks in a still small voice.

Be still and know that I am God. (Psalm 46:10) 

Making Lemonade

At a birthday party last night, the guest of honor opened a gift that had already been used. Not just used, used up. I'm guessing the gift came from a garage sale and the givers didn't know it was already used. When the birthday boy discovered it (after the givers left), all the other adults made suggestions of how he could enjoy the parts that were left.

Lemonade.

The squirrels are back. Technically, they never left. They've spent the summer preparing places in the garden to bury walnuts. And now the fantastic feat of removing every single walnut from both huge trees begins. Maybe I could try loving squirrels more than I love walnuts. Or carnations. They eat those, too.

Lemonade.

My friend came home from Alaska with 50 pounds of halibut. 3 of the vacuum sealed bags didn't seal, so that fish needs to be eaten right away. Darn. We're having halibut for lunch today.

Lemonade.

I love the redemption themes that run throughout the stories God writes, both in in the Bible and in the lives of his people. He takes things that are broken or missing parts and makes them whole. He takes garbage and makes it into art. He restores, renews, refreshes, redeems, recycles.

He takes the bitter and makes it sweet.

Loosening the Apron Strings

This is such a great picture of what being a parent is about. Supporting at the beginning, then running along beside for protection. Hovering and watching for a while, then granting independence.

I think God treats his kids that way, too. He never lets us go beyond his reach, but gives us the choice of how to live our lives. I like to think he's the type of father who always makes sure his kids wear their helmets.

Work of the Devil

A peddler came by the king's palace selling books. He had a particularly fine copy of a Bible. The printing was so straight, so true. It must have taken a lifetime to write such a perfect book.

The archbishop paid a call on the king.

"I've got a book I want to show you," he said. The archbishop produced a Bible, written with perfect hand, remarkably like the king's own copy. In fact, when compared, the two Bibles proved to be identical, with the same number of pages and the same words upon each page.

How could this be? How could two such beautiful books exist, exact replicas of each other? It would have taken a man's whole life to produce just one such book, but two? Impossible.

More copies of the same Bible started showing up in other places, in monasteries and libraries, in the homes of noblemen. Not having any other explanation, they concluded that this must be the work of the Devil.

Isn't it interesting that what might have been God's greatest evangelical tool of all time, the printing press, was scorned by church and state alike as the Devil's work? Has there ever been anything that has done so much for advancing the gospel, for offering knowledge and freedom to the impoverished and enslaved?

Peripheral Vision

There are a lot of people in my life who exist in my peripheral vision. I see them, but I don't really look at them. I greet them, but I don't really know them. I shake hands with them, but their lives don't actually touch my own.

One of the kids was sick yesterday, so I sat with her in the church lobby until services ended. There was quite a crowd back there... a couple of teenagers hanging out, the church secretary overseeing everything, an elder praying with a couple, and a woman crying, a pillow hugged against her. Over the intercom, I heard the call to prayer and the instructions, repeated every week.

"If you have a prayer need, feel free to ask someone to pray with you. Or if you know of someone in need, get up and move to be by that person."

I didn't know the lady. I've seen her, but just in that peripheral vision. I couldn't ignore her, not now that I faced her with nothing to distract me. So I sat by her and prayed for her. I don't know if she heard me through her pain. I wish I could have done more.

I'm so thankful that the God of the Universe heard, that the God of all comfort does not see us out the corner of his eye. He sees us clearly.