Goin' Down to Mama's

Sunday Morning Serenity

Sometimes when I’m not sure what I should write about on Sunday morning, I go to BibleGateway.com to see the verse of the day. Here’s what I found this morning, and it’s definitely speaking to me:

In your relationships with one another,
have the same mindset as Christ Jesus:
Who, being in very nature God,
did not consider equality with God
something to be used to his own advantage;
rather, he made himself nothing
by taking the very nature of a servant,
being made in human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a man,
he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death—
even death on a cross!
Philippians 2: 5-8

There’s an awful lot of one-upmanship on the news and in social media—people using to their advantage everything from their faith to their education to their bank accounts. But God’s grace through Christ is not a weapon to wield against “lesser” people; it’s a call to servanthood and (this one can be hard for me) obedience.

Being a Christian doesn’t make us better than nonbelievers. It makes us responsible for showing them God’s love and light.

You might think it’s a little strange to listen to Christmas music this time of year, but I ran across this video of a group of young people sharing the light with so much joy—I hope it brings you joy this Sunday morning.

 

Sunday Morning Serenity

The Gospels record Christ’s birth, which happened at night, and His resurrection, which came in the morning—from darkness to light, as Isaiah prophesied:

The people walking in darkness
    have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of deep darkness
    a light has dawned. 
Isaiah 9:2

Christ’s love, light, grace, and peace to you this Easter morning.

 

 

Sunday Morning Serenity

This is a story about vintage Florida postcards and nurses and the Book of Hebrews. I think I can pull it off because I’m on my second cup of coffee. Even so, prepare for a ramble because I’m not sure where this one’s going.

I’m working on a book manuscript that’s partially set in Florida in 1947. And while I was researching it, I ran across lots of old postcards online. I caught myself feeling a little smug, looking at images on little rectangles of linen paper, inviting me to marvel at a parrot or be amazed by a porpoise leaping up to catch a dangled fish. How touristy! How naïve those travelers were back in the day.

But I imagine, decades from now, some whippersnapper will be turning up her nose at my Instagram vacation photos (if I ever remember to post any, and Instagram lives as long as those old postcards). I’ll get the same “bless her heart” I just gave the tourists of yesteryear. Plus, I’m old enough to remember when the glass-bottom boat at Silver Springs was all that. Everybody wanted to ride it. Truth be told, I probably still would, given the chance, so I’m not exactly the picture of sophistication.

Those postcards reminded me of something I used to hear a lot when I was freelancing and Interviewing nurse scientists at UAB: “You don’t know what you don’t know.” In other words, there’s knowledge and truth waiting for us out there, and until we seek it out, we won’t know what we’re missing. We don’t know how much we have yet to understand. (For example, those iconic Florida flamingos were initially shipped in from South America, or so I read.)

I know I’ve quoted this passage before, but it fascinates me because it’s very much in keeping with “we don’t know what we don’t know.” It’s in Hebrews 8:5, which talks about earthly priests, who “serve at a sanctuary that is a copy and shadow of what is in heaven.” Remember how they used to tell schoolkids to view a shadow of an eclipse? Something about a pin hole through a piece of cardboard—I forget the details—but the idea was that our eyes couldn’t handle looking directly at the real thing, so we had to be satisfied with the safer (but not nearly as beautiful) shadow.

And then this: “By faith we understand that the universe was formed at God’s command, so that what is seen was not made out of what was visible.” (Hebrews 11:3) I could think about that all day. What we see of the world was originally made of something we can’t see. (And it still is, to some degree, hence the need for microscopes and telescopes.)

It's very hard to accept that some things are beyond our understanding and that we have to be satisfied with a shadow of the real thing, for now. And if we feel that way, imagine how early Christians must have felt on this jubilant day, now called Palm Sunday, as they slowly realized where a Jerusalem street, filled with hosannas, was leading. Sorrow and suffering were coming. But so were resurrection and redemption. They just couldn't see it yet.

Peace to you this Sunday morning.

 

Sunday Morning Serenity

Rory the curious toddler paid us a couple of visits yesterday, with his mother and grandmother close on his heels.

I have to wonder—if Rory had a to-do list, what would it look like:

• Run up and down neighbors’ ramp because that’s fun
• Push swing on deck to make it go
• Clap hands. Giggle. Squeal with delight.
• Chase Cheeto the Cat
• Squirt something with garden hose
• Try again to squeeze through Cheeto’s cat door
• Marvel at literally everything

In one sense, maturing is about acquiring—knowledge, experience, judgment. But if we aren't watchful, it can also be about shedding—our sense of wonder, our joy, our excitement over something as simple as a swing or an orange cat.

I’m the world’s worst at getting so caught up in my to-do list that I don’t even remember where I put my to-enjoy list. My to-marvel-at list. My to-giggle-about list.

I'm taking a cue from Rory this week. Yes, I have lots of work to do. But my azaleas are blooming and tomato season is coming and the outdoor pool at the gym is about to open.

Clap hands. Giggle. Squeal with delight.

[Image by Jordan Whitt @ Freerangestock.com]