Politics Getting Your Down? Here's Hope!

Hi Friends,

After watching most of the US Presidential debate on Tuesday, I found myself discouraged, troubled in spirit, and feeling just, well, yucky. What a mess! Is there any hope?! Is there any chance for truth, for decency, for ... love? 

I didn't think so, or at least I didn't feel so. But then I remembered this little story about fog and faith that happened years ago. The dense and ugly fog of politics may have obscured the view of truth, decency, love ... but that doesn't mean those things aren't there. They ARE there. They are there in Jesus, just as strong as ever. And they are there in you and in me as we choose to follow the way of truth and real, action-love, God's love. 

Clearly (pun intended!), government and politicians doing politics, are not the answer. They won't save us. You and I, continuing to believe, to stick determinedly to love and truth, to follow God's call to love him and others with abandon, with everything in us ... we are the ones who will bring hope and beauty, love and light, into this depressing, debilitating fog. 

Together, believing in the wonder of God, living out the invitation of his love, we can do what government and politics cannot. Together, no name-calling, no hate, no considering those "other side" as enemies that must be defeated at all costs, we can be the light that burns away the fog so that the hurting can see and be lifted by the true Light who loves them enough to sacrifice himself. 

So, don't believe the lies of the fog! Love is still there. Beauty is still there. Decency and truth still exist. And YOU are loved enough that God Himself is calling you to rise above and glow with the light of His love.

Here is the story that inspired these thoughts in my today, and gave me a renewed hope . . .

OF FOG AND FAITH

 

On some days, I can almost glimpse eternity.  It stretches outside my new office window, reaching down the green valley lined with oaks, touching the distant, snow-frosted mountains.  On those days, I gaze out over the tall Monterey pines and search out that special place where sky meets earth in a blaze of blue glory.  And I know that God is real, that He created all this beauty, and that He shares it with me because He loves me.  On those days, I have no doubts, no questions, no fear.

This day, however, was not one of those days.  I could see no mountains, no valley.  Even the tops of pines were blotted from my view.  Instead, fog laced through the bottom branches and swirled in thick ripples across the ground.  Grayness pressed against my window and formed tiny water droplets on the glass.  It covered the mountains, masked the oaks, camouflaged the pines.  I sat at my desk and peered out into the day, and saw nothing but waves of thick fog.

I sighed and dialed in to check my email.

“So, how do you like your new office?”  My husband’s voice sounded from the doorway behind me.

I turned and smiled at him.  “I love it.  And the view out this window is incredible.  You ought to see it.”

Bryan strode through the door and leaned against the windowsill.  His eyes narrowed.  “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, really.  Oaks and pines, and snow-tipped mountains kissing the sky.”

Bryan’s eyebrows rose to his hairline.  “Very poetic, but it looks like a bunch of fog to me.”  His voice lowered to a mutter.  “Snow-kissed mountains.  Yeah, right.”

I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest.  “You’ll just have to take my word for it.  On a clear day . . . wow, you can see forever.”

Bryan shrugged his shoulders.  “If you say so.”  He dropped a handful of mail onto my desk, then turned and left.

In the moments that followed, I shuffled through the mail then allowed my gaze to again travel out the window.  The fog wouldn’t lift today.  And maybe not tomorrow.  It could be days, I knew, before I caught sight of the mountains or valley again.  But the vision of snow-topped mountains and the deep green of the valley oaks remained fixed in my mind.  I knew the mountains were out there, even though I couldn’t see them.  I trusted that the trees remained as green and beautiful, even when they were lost to my sight.

As I sat and listened to the silence tangle with the fog outside, I was reminded of the Bible’s definition of faith.  Hebrews 11:1 (NIV) says, “Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.”

I used to live as if faith was seeing the mountains.  I believed that if I only had enough faith, I would see God clearly, I would always know what He wants, I wouldn’t have any doubts, any questions.  There would never be any fog.

But these days, I see faith differently.  Faith, I’ve come to believe, doesn’t dispel the fog, but is found within it.  Faith isn’t about seeing the mountains.  It’s about believing they are there when all my senses deny it.  It’s about believing in that spot of blue glory when all I see is the persistent grayness.  

There are times when I wonder if God really loves me, when hurt and confusion press against the window of my soul, when doubts creep in and twine around my thoughts as surely as the fog twists through the trees.  That’s when faith flourishes.  As surely as I can say I know the mountains and oaks and pines are there, even though I can’t see them, so I can say, I know God loves me even though I can’t see it now.  I know that I am His and that He died for me.  I choose to believe what I cannot see.  For faith is not seeing, but believing, even in the fog.  Especially in the fog.

Even Roosters Can Work Together! Can We??

 Hi Friends,

Today I wanted to share a story that I hope will encourage us to stop looking at others as our enemies and instead work toward unity to protect others and care for the weak. See what you think!

Dogs in the Chicken Coop

 

 “Mom!” 

I knew by the intensity of the shriek that something was very wrong. My six-year-old never screamed like that. She came bursting through my office door. “Mom! Help! Come quick!”

I leapt from my chair. “What’s wrong?”

She started to sob as she spoke. “The dogs are in the chicken coop. I couldn’t get them out.”

I ran for the door. She ran after me. 

“They pushed past me when I went in. I couldn’t get them out. Hurry!”

I was hurrying. I was sprinting out the front door, up the driveway, back toward the coop.

“Moooommmmmyyyy! They’re going to kill all the chickens!” 

Probably.

But I wouldn’t say that out loud. Instead, I just ran as fast as I could.

When I reached the coop, I burst inside. The hens were squawking high up in the coop while our white rooster flapped his wings at the two dogs and the red rooster lay, motionless, on the coop floor.

The two little dogs barked ferociously at the red rooster.

Oh no. Buffalo, the red rooster, was the favorite of all the kids.

I grabbed the two dogs and tossed them from the coop. They wagged their tails and scratched at the door to get back in. I ignored them.

Instead I knelt beside Buffalo, fearing the worst.

But he was still breathing. I helped him to his feet.

He shook himself and blinked at me. His entire, glorious tail had been pulled out and now I noticed feathers scattered around the coop. He had a few bare spots on his wings, but there wasn’t a bite mark on him. 

My daughter sidled up next to me. “Is he going to be all right?”

“I think so. Go get the wound spray from the barn. I’m going to spray him where his tail got pulled out.”

Jordyn brought me the spray and Buffalo held still while I tended to his bare back end. Then he fluttered up to his perch and checked on his hens. The white rooster turned around on his perch and I noticed that he, too, was missing much of his tail. I sprayed him too, checked the hens, then sat on the hay. 

The roosters stared at me. I stared back at them. “You’re war heroes, you know,” I told them. “You fought the battle so the hens could get away.”

They fluttered their wings, off balance without their large tails.

I smiled at them. Sometimes the roosters squabble with each other. Sometimes they peck the backs of the hens. But when the real enemy threatened their hens, the roosters worked together to protect the flock. 

That’s how we need to be too. In the church, in our families, in our circles of friends, we need to recognize that the enemy is not each other. There’s real enemy whose goal is our destruction, our death. 

Sometimes we’re too busy squabbling with each other to protect against the real threat. Sometimes we’re too busy pecking at those God has given us to protect. Paul says in Galatians 5:14-16 (NIV), “For the entire law is fulfilled in keeping this one command: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ If you bite and devour each other, watch out or you will be destroyed by each other.”

The roosters may occasionally be disgruntled with one another, but they don’t bite and devour each other. And when the real enemy sneaks into their coop, they band together to protect the hens. They know who the enemy really is.

And as I sat there, bemoaning the loss of Buffalo’s stunning tail (and most of Parmesan’s beautiful white tail), I started to see that losing a tail, even a gorgeous one like Buffalo’s, isn’t the worst thing that can happen.

God calls us to protect the weak, stand up for what’s right, lay down our lives, our tails, for others. He doesn’t call us to bicker and nitpick and peck at the very ones who we are called to protect. He doesn’t call us to bite and devour each other.

He calls us to fight the real enemy, the one who wants to destroy our souls. Together, just like Buffalo and Parmesan, we can defeat every dog who crashes our coop. Together, God gives us the strength to love others enough to sacrifice our tails so they can find a high place of safety.

Together, we can be who God created us to be, even if some feathers get pulled out in the process.