Roar, Lion, Roar

They will follow the Lord; he will roar like a lion.  When he roars, his children will come trembling...
Hosea 11:10


How I wish the Lion would roar!


I am sick of a world in which evil is so pervasive.
I am weary of watching poor choices ruin lives.
I am revolted by the way in which so many mock what is sacred.
And they all appear to be getting away with it.


I long for a world where evil is always punished.
I want to see decisions based on righteous principles.
I desire to live where the sacred is exalted and revered.
And everyone genuinely delights in it.


Who can shake his fist in the face of a lion?
Who can outrun or overpower him?
Who dares to defiantly roar back?
Who does not tremble when he roars.


When He first walked among us, He was meek as a Lamb.
As a sheep before her shearers is silent...
But the Lamb of God will one day return as a Lion.
When he roars, his children will come trembling...


Roar, Lion, Roar!

That wasn’t nine days!

 I am writing this on a flight back to New York after spending the past few days visiting a daughter, son-in-law and two sweet granddaughters in Florida.  We have delighted in the interactions of these days….time at the pool and the beach, walks, bike rides, trips to the playground, sight-seeing, book reading, playing games, snuggling and more book reading. 

When a grandparent doesn’t see a grandchild for a period of months, the changes are somewhat startling.  A child who was in a beginning reader last time is now reading fluently both aloud and silently.    We ride along in the car and the five year old reads the signs along the way… “Mexican Grill, Sushi House, divided highway, uneven lanes.”  How did that happen?  Last time I heard her read it was “See Dan and Jan run.”

Both girls are riding bicycles now instead of trikes.  The six year-old swims without a flotation aide and hangs upside down from the monkey bars by her knees.  They make their own beds, carry their dishes to the kitchen after meals, and dress themselves, including selection of their own clothing which actually matches…usually.

Most of this did not happen magically, of course.  I know how much effort is required of parents to teach good habits.  Some of it does seem to happen in mystical ways, however.  What wondrous mechanism in the human brain causes a child to learn to read or ride a bike?  I understand that repetitive activity causes electronic pathways to be traveled more easily, but it is still miraculous to me.

The time passed much too quickly.   Last night as we talked about leaving today, the five year-old said with indignation, “That was NOT nine days!”  Her mother counted off the days for her on her fingers.  She was quiet as she realized the truth.  It was nine days….nine much too short days.

One of the girls declared they would now have to go back to being bored.  I doubt that those two eager minds are ever actually bored, but, apparently they will miss us, and I know we will miss them.

Little House on the Precipice

Throughout my life, an image of a sweet little Cape Code style house has on occasion floated through my mind.  I see myself as barely more than a toddler exploring the yard and discovering to my great surprise that the house is on the edge of the world!  The grassy area is enclosed by a fence, but through the wire mesh of the fence I see an enormous hole…the biggest and deepest one I have ever seen in my young life.  Each time the pictures play across my brain, they are accompanied by the feeling that I was supposed to live there, but I know the various places I lived as a child and the memories don’t match up with any of them.

I thought perhaps this was a sort of Freudian dream that had some importance to understanding my psyche.  But, once when I described the house and yard to my mother, she shrugged and said, “Well, we almost lived in a place like that once.”  Although she offered no further details, I decided that it wasn’t symbolic of anything….that it was a genuine memory.

One of my uncles was the last survivor of his generation, and as he approached the end of his life, he reminisced about many things.  Without me asking any questions, he shared one day that my parents had planned to move to a little house located right on the edge of a quarry.  My father had actually made a purchase offer and down-payment on the house.  When he took my grandparents to see it, his father was horrified.  He said, “You cannot move that little child into this house.  It is too dangerous.”

My father, being young, freshly out of World War II and struggling to establish himself, protested that he had already made a payment and couldn’t afford to lose the money.  According to my uncle, my grandfather gave my father the amount of the down-payment, so that he would not move me into that house. 

My grandfather was not a wealthy man.  He was a blue-collar worker who had raised his family in the Depression.  He died at the age of 69, when I was only 6 years old.  My memories of him are few and not as intense as those of the other three grandparents who lived until I was a “tween.”  I do remember that he took me for long rides in my wagon, and that he had a hearty laugh.

To these, I now add and treasure the memory of his concern for me.

Tabula Rasa?

Tabula rasa or "blank slate" is the notion that a child is born without prior knowledge or "programming," and can therefore, be influenced in any direction by environment and experiences after birth.  Those who believe in nurture over nature tend in this direction.


Recently I was at a booth at an organized event and was approached by a woman close to my age.  She seemed to just want to talk and launched into an explanation that in spite of her age, she had an eleven year old son.  She said that she and had her husband had been foster parents and had not been allowed to adopt because of their age.  When the opportunity came along to obtain a child through private adoption, they took it, much to the consternation of the foster agency.  When a representative of the agency asked where the baby had come from, she told them, "It's none of your business."  She went on to tell me that he is a "good boy," because they got him straight out of the hospital as a "blank slate."


I wanted to say, "Oh, my dear, I hope he doesn't break your poor, old heart."  Instead, I said nothing, and since she had turned to leave during her comment, no response was required of me.


Having spent time in a newborn nursery while in nursing school, I was not a believer in "tabula rasa" even before having my own children.  Personalities emerge from Day 1.  I did, however, believe that nurture could make up for a lot of flaws in nature, and now, I'm not so sure.


Each of my children is unique, and I can definitely see the influence of genetic background in each.  When I note certain traits in my biological children, I sometime laugh with the knowledge of which relative they resemble.  My daughter at age 3 picked all of the black jelly beans out of the candy dish, displaying my father's preference.  My son has mannerisms that remind me of my mother's brothers, who were all deceased before he was born, so he could not be mimicking them.  On the other hand, my adopted daughters have traits that leave me scratching my head as to origin.  


After 4 children, 8 grandchildren and almost 40 years of parenting, I have concluded that nature establishes the parameters and nurture allows one to influence within the parameters, but not get outside of them.  The only way to get outside of the boundaries of nature is by an act of God.  And, I do mean that literally.  The person himself or herself would have to make a conscious decision to place his/her life in God's hands and allow God to shape, mold and change.


None of us has to be a prisoner of either nature or nurture.  God has a plan for each of us with the intent of fulfilling who we really are.  He can redeem both the nature we were born with and the nurturing we have experienced.  Not that we will be perfected in this life time....both nature and nurture leave their marks on us.  But neither has to hold us hostage.

Power of the Resurrection

How can death be reversed?
What power can bring this about?
Electrical current may restart a silent heart...
but..
What if the heart has not beaten for three days?


What happened that Easter morning?
Did the infinite touch the finite?
Was an image really scorched...
into...
the now ancient Shroud of Turin?


What is the power of the resurrection?
How can my mind comprehend this?
Are the scriptures true that say..
this power...
Is available to those who believe?


How can death be reversed?
What happened that Easter morning?
How is the power of the resurrection...
relevant..
To my life today?


Can I access the power by faith?
Can I allow it to course through my soul?
Is there unlimited strength with which...
to confront..
The seemingly unlimited struggles of life?


I pray that you may know his incomparably great power.
That power is like the working of his mighty strength,
Which he exerted in Christ Jesus
when 
He raised him from the dead.*


Sovereign Lord, Creator, Sustainer
By faith I acknowledge you,
Pour into my frailty, the Spirit
which
Fills and fulfills, consumes and empowers.


*(from Ephesians 1:18-20)