Creative Genius

 

 

As you browse nature’s aisle, your senses are awakened to its enticements. Like a visit to a home improvement store, you see a painter’s palette beyond imagination. You dream of how such picturesque beauties of wild flowers and honeyed branches could find a place in your daily life, not just the occasional visit. The fields are filled with flower carpets in the delicate and the bold; splashes of bright oranges poppies explode into view. Your sensations are most surely overwhelmed by this sight. God is clearly an uninhibited artist; his selection of pigment knows no limit. Yellows, oranges, reds coexist beside greens, browns, purples, and whites.

But you may ask why does a Creative Genius take such delight and precise care with such seemingly insignificant items? They are here today and gone tomorrow only to be replaced by others equally or even more beautiful and fragrant. These fantastic gems last so little time, yet He thoughtfully and carefully dedicated His attention to them. Can we do any less?

 

The best and most complete answer is that God wants to be seen and known, but even more so, He wants you to know how much He loves you. He goes about his job with a tremendous joy and a supreme finesse as He places each wild flower, the blue columbine, and cacti even in the arid air of the dessert. He places the succulents and the trees for the birds to build their nests near the beauty of the green mountains.

What purpose can beauty serve if it cannot draw us to rest, to contemplation, and to conversation with its Creator who has created a symphony of sight, sound, and smells? He has left His calling card and hopes you will give him a ring, so as you peruse the aisle of this world improvement store, let  each blade of grass, each petal of flower, and leaf of tree, sing  “Oh how He loves you!”
 

An Enraptured Shopper,
MJ

 

How great is the love the Father has lavished on us,that we should be called children of God and that is what we are!

1 John 3:1

The Gate and the Pen

Jesus emphatically states that he is the gate to the sheep pen. What does He exactly mean by that? In my own life, I believe I’ve come to understand what Jesus means when he says we can come in and come out of the sheep pen and find pleasant pastures. In Psalm 16 , God has promised that the lines will fall in pleasant places.  We will have a good inheritance. Other versions of the same scripture says the boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places, and I have a pleasant inheritance. Both versions suggest that it is God who holds and maintains on lots.

It is God who chooses our relationships, our families, the very parameters of our existence. To be at peace with this truth, one must inherently believe God's intentions toward us are indeed good. There, our lives begin and end: the very parameters or boundaries of the lines of our existence are set because of God’s inherent goodness and love for us. We must believe as Psalm 145:17 God states that God is loving in all of his ways and is kind in all that he does. If we doubt this central fact, we will not be pleased with the boundaries that God sets for us. Instead, we will be typically angry, resentful, and fearful.

Jesus as the Good Shepherd serves as the gate that allows us to go in and go out freely. Begin to reflect on the fact that God offers us the freedom to come in and to go out of the  pen at our own discretion. God gave us free will but also the rules we need to protect ourselves.  The wall in the sheep pen is there to protect us.  In terms of our emotions, the  gate allows others access to our hearts and our emotions. As we open the gate, we allow people to know our intimate thoughts, but in order to gain entrance, a person must first pass through the gate who is Jesus. Hopefully, we will allow Jesus to be the gatekeeper he wishes to be and allow only things and people who decides to enter inside of our hearts for He has best interests at heart.

A Fellow Sheep,

MJ

A Big Fat Chance

Carrying extra weight is like wearing a large and extravagant, me enough to conceal a person from chin to foot.

If necessary, even the eyes may be hid. The weight of the coat provides security for its occupant even while it imprisons. But what one doesn’t see is  that  underneath that heavy object is a frail human being, one who is cowering from the blows life has dealt it.

Paralyzed by fear of repeated beatings, this step-child hides behind this fortress of fat. Chipping begins on that fortress by the Master Craftsman-part Potter and Carpenter, He begins to remove the fortress bit by bit until the person emerges.

 Imagine if you will, snipping a section of that fur coat, which really represents  pain, fear, and shame more than lust, greed, a lack of self-control. Now, you see that hidden waters begin to flow, more trust is developing.  The healing touch of Christ brings peace and wholeness. The fur collar comes off- you see the face and the whole mouth is there to view.

Then an inch or two off the hem, one can walk. The sleeves are taken away- one is free to move. Then a foot is taken from the bottom of the coat year after year, and suddenly one discovers that one is no longer wearing a coat, but a jacket. Remove the fur trim. Shave it off. It looks more like a vest but still stifle; it constrict.  Your heart is covered and that is all that matters.

Finally Jesus offers a light-weight wind breaker- it is incredibly effective against the harsh elements of life, but one can’t even wear two coats at the same time. What to do?

He is wise enough to realize that one would have never exchanged the Teflon fur-lined coat for the fragile piece of cloth, but now one is as close to bare as one will dare to be, and so He offers it  just the same.

There may be many such exchanges.  One may demand to have  the vest back but eventually, one will enjoy the freedom of Jesus’ windbreaker or one may true to add a discarded remnant of the old coat to the new assemblage, but Jesus will have no of it. He will stop you- because He loves you.

A Vest-Wearer,
Mella

 

Healing Like Rain

The Lord is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love. The Lord is good to all; he has compassion for all he has made (Psalm 145 v.8-9)

Healing is like rain. What I mean to say is that healing is the product of  the showers of truth. When we allow light and truth to enter our hearts, healing is the result. I have discovered recently that the torrential thunderstorms of life that I tried to avoid, in reality, brought the best crops of restoration, joy, and peace in my life.

Healing comes in the unsettled ways live reaches us: death, relocation, new job, and separation from my family and home. I know because all these things hit my life.  I uprooted myself from everything I had a new call to move to South Africa. I had a call I was to begin a journey, a supposed adventure but it was at the cost of the familiar.

What began as an adventure turned out to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever experienced? I left my classroom of 10 years, my home of 10 years, and my family. Nothing stays the same. Neither people nor places. So, when I returned I was hit with a full storm of emotions: who was I? Where did I belong? How would I or could fit into two worlds? The deluge of coming home to what was not really my home anymore and saying associates and students who no longer associates was more than unnerving. Add to that my church closed the same month I came home.  The deluge seemed ready to sink my craft. Bolts of lightning and frightening rumbles of terrible thunder rocked my world as relationships came unglued and the support I thought would be forthcoming did not appear. Luckily, my small boat was tied to a larger one whose Guide is God.

In the midst of this storm, there was a pilot on the boat next to. He pulled my small ship closer to his larger one and I grabbed the ladder that he had thrown overboard and quietly gathered the strength to enter into his boat. There his gentle ministrations brought healing to my chafed spirit and soul: un-dealt with issues, unmet desires, unhealed hurts. All these rivulets of scars He healed with His tender attentions.

Hebrews 12 states no discipline seems pleasant at the time but it achieves a harvest of righteousness for those who are trained by. That difficult season in my life has produced a firm foundation. I trust completely in God to captain by ship. I do not rely on men to do what only God can, and I resolutely know that no matter many storms hit my life,  He will bring my safely to harbor. Psalm 145: 17: God is just in all his ways; and is kind in all he does. If I did not believe that, I would have given up a long time ago.  Meditate on these promises from Psalm 145: “The Lord upholds all those who fall down and lifts all who were bowed down (v.14). “The Lord is near to all who call on him to all who call on him in truth. He fulfills the desires of those who fear him; he hears their cry and saves them" (v.18-19).

I pray that no matter what storms hit your life; you will not get out of the boat with Jesus -even if he is sleeping in the stern. One cry from your voice will awaken and will speak Peace to you and the storm, If He doesn’t quiet the storm outside of you, He will quiet the one within, just as he did for me.

Standing under the umbrella of Grace.

MJ

 

The Ten Forgotten Virgins

We talk about the Twenty Virgins: Ten Foolish and Ten Wise. But there is a forgotten story of ten other virgins. We know them as concubines, not quite wives, but not really whores. Who were these women? Like all women, they began as virgins. They were likely the daughters of kings, royalty in reality, but they ended their days as witless victims to a man’s lust or greed of power. I take my story from a small segment found in the book of Kings, Embattled King David is forced to flee Jerusalem as his son, Absalom, attempts a coup d’état. In his wake, he leaves ten concubines and their children to guard the palace and its belongings. One has to wonder what David was thinking.

Absalom said to Ahithophel, “Give us your advice. What should we do?” Ahithophel answered, “Sleep with your father’s concubines whom he left to take care of the palace. Then all Israel will hear that you have made yourself obnoxious to your father, and the hands of everyone with you will be more resolute.” So they pitched a tent for Absalom on the roof, and he slept with his father’s concubines in the sight of all Israel. Now in those days the advice Ahithophel gave was like that of one who inquires of God. That was how both David and Absalom regarded all of Ahithophel advice. (2 Samuel 16:20-23).

Absalom’s decision came from tradition; it was a conventionally Eastern idea. The grossest insult that one could offered to a king, and that a king a father, would be to lie with his wives and concubines, and this choice would strengthen the breach between David and Absalom.

 It was irreparable; it was vain to hope for any reconciliation. We talk of David and Absalom, Joab and Ahithophel; yet, few wonder, however, what happened to the ten concubines that were left behind. In scripture, they appear to be merely glossed over. Certainly, the Bible scholar is little concerned with their fate. Humiliation. Shame. Degradation.

 

 When the famous king is forced to leave Jerusalem with his wives, concubines, and children, it  is a day of great sadness. Indeed, it is a day of great shame. Critics speak of David’s humiliation but what of that of the women? To be taken, one after another and used, and then tossed away. Was it not bad enough to be left behind in Jerusalem, not taken with the rest of the king’s entourage? But now to add insult to injury, they are to be raped by the king’s son in view of all of  Jerusalem. Public Humiliation. Lest we imagine ourselves any better, when a rape victim is tried in the papers or it is suggested that she invited the abuse, we assume the same posture as those who stood that day and watched Absalom go in and lay with his father’s concubines.

 Ahithophel, one of David’s trusted counselors, advises Absalom to put up a tent of the place roof and publically humiliate his father be having intercourse with his concubines. Why is it that a woman seems to be voiceless at these times? Where were the voices that said, “do not do this thing? If not for the rape of your own sister, Tamar, do not do this thing. Do not use women like your brother Amnon used your sister Tamar and then discarded her. She had no place to go from her shame, these women will neither.”

No, but Absalom is furious; he has held his anger and grievance over David’s lack of action over his sister’s rape for almost ten years. For two years, he waited and plotted the murder of his brother Amnon. After the assassination, which he did during a pretext of throwing a party to which he invited his brothers, he fled to his mother’s country where he remained for three years. When he returned to Jerusalem, he was not greeted by his father for another two years.  Finally, he spent four years plotting his rebellion. Eleven years has passed for him to build up his rage; it must be spent.

At least someone grieved over Tamar; who grieved over these women? Did they cry together as they tried to wipe the shame away as they did the tears? They were now one flesh with father and son. They shared pain now on a deeper level, adding to their sense of rejection and humiliation.

One incident of rape had such great ramifications that it is hard to believe that we believe that there will be not cataclysmic effects for us in this generation. Like David, we are truly asleep at the wheel.

P.S.

Those ten concubines had no more choice in having sex with Absalom then Bathsheba with David. That would be akin to saying a serf or slave girl had a choice in having sex with her master. In fact, most feudal landlords and slave masters considered it their right to deflower a peasant or slave girl.

Still Ruminating,

MJ

Beeteeful Lessons

It is one thing to study something as a matter of academic interest and quite another to view it firsthand. Such is my experience with the bees. I had researched them and talked about them, but now I would learn about them experientially. So, one sunny day two weeks ago, I entered into the world of bees. There, I learned some new lessons.

First, I learned that bees are sensitive to smell. They do not like perfumes. I guess that I can understand this sentiment since they daily smell the freshest and best perfume that the world has to offer: flowers. Anything synthetic imitating the real thing should dissatisfy.



They also can smell fear. Like dogs, if they sense fear, they will attack. During my entire time with the bees, I had to remain quiet, calm, and full of faith. I trusted God's presence in the bees so much that I stood before the nest naked so to speak.: no hat,  no gloves, or mask. Even my lower body was open to attack if they so chose, but I believed that they would not. I walked in as a friend not foe.

Lastly, I want to describe the treasure I reaped: the honey and the honey comb. God's word and godly wisdom is compared to the honeycomb: "They are more desirable than gold, even much fine gold. They are sweeter than honey, even the drippings from a honeycomb" (Psalm 19:10). True sweetness in life takes much work. The bees work hard for their product, and rightfully become enraged when people try to steal their hard-earned work. What if we were as adamant about guarding God's word in hearts, His promises, and our faith in Him, as the bees are diligent in attacking those who attempt to steal their honeycomb? Wouldn't the sweetness of God's presence flow down our lives and into the lives of others because of His loving presence that saturates us?


I left that day with one terrible sting on my hand- that 's all. But isn't that life? If you live afraid, you may never be stung, but have you really lived? The sting of love and  death simply reminds us and others that we have truly lived and that without fear.

Honey-filled,
MJ

What's in a Name?

Heritage is a strange thing. We look in the mirror, and we see our father’s nose, and mother’s eyes. But, what about the deeper things? I have being thinking about my own inheritance from my father. He died twelve years ago; yet, it was not until this week that I could articulate more fully the gifts that he bequeathed to me. That I could do so was only a work of the Heavenly Father and Holy Spirit.

The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, "Abba, Father." Romans 8:15

 

The Lord has been speaking to me about the spirit of adoption; I call it the spirit of belonging, knowing that one is a daughter or son. The key to this heavenly adoption hinges on an earthly reality: are we our parents’ children? Do we respect and honor them? We learn how to be children in our parents’ household … or not. If not, we will struggle with trusting God to be a perfect Father. We will struggle with the act of submitting to being a child.

 I found it difficult to understand how to honor a father, long-deceased; a necessary step, but daunting, nonetheless.  My father was no more perfect than anyone else’s; he struggled during his life with illness, addictions, and other problems, but God showed me that much of what I take for granted about who I am- the good in me came from my father.

I had an astonishing dad, not in the traditional sense. I lived in a home that valued history. He barely finished high school, but could have taken on any history professor at Harvard on the topics of American presidency and wars.

He loved to cook, and we watched chefs prepare meals. Something, I am sure not too many African-American dads did in the 1980s with their kids. While my mother baked from a recipe, he baked from scratch, often improvising.  Something,  that I still do this day as I cook and bake for over 100 people at the YWAM base.

He also had a lovely singing voice. The fact that I know Marty Robbins, Sam Cooke, Aretha Franklin, Elvis Presley, Bobbie Blue Bland, Janis Joplin, and Johnny Cash is thanks to him. He introduced  me to gospel, rock, folk, early country, blues, and soul. Later, as I studied music, I would add jazz, classical, and international musicians to those genres.

He was a great athletic. He was invited to play professional baseball with a Houston-based team.  Personally, for over decade, I have taught at YMCA, Curves, and other establishments as a fitness instructor. I have been an enthusiastic bicyclist for twenty-five years.

He was preacher although I am not sure how good of a pastor he made.  My handling of the word of God takes its roots from both my mom and dad. I have preaching since I was 18 years old, but devouring the word of God even before then.

He authentically loved children and fathered orphans. I have worked with children since my teens ; I began ministering to see them protected and loved. Through him, I met and learned about other cultures. His life crossed religious, ethnic, racial, and socio-economic lines. My first travels were with him in the car delivering albums to buyers. I have since traveled to over thirty countries. Now, I am in South Africa working with girls who live in impoverished areas because of him.

Much of who I am is because of him today.

When we think of the gifts our fathers give us sometimes we don’t really see clearly until God shines a light. What our are idiosyncrasies? What sets us apart? If you don’t understand or know who you are, think about your father.

Fathered,
MJ