Blinded by Manna

I fall asleep to the sound of rain, muffled by the roof over our head which keeps us warm for the night.  I love the rain, but that's because I have the luxury of observing it from safety and shelter.  Others don't have this.

I wake up to the sound of birds enjoying the fresh, sun streaked morning, singing their song for whoever chooses to listen. I pull the covers close to my head and nestle into the silky sheets we received as a wedding gift. I could sleep in, but I choose to wake up.

As I get ready, I mentally browse through my breakfast options as one browses the internet, with little haste and no sense of urgency.  Aimlessly, really.  Eggs?  Smoothie?  Cereal?  Oatmeal? Which cereal? Shredded Wheat?  Cheerios? It doesn't really matter.  Whatever I choose, I'll walk out of my one-bedroom apartment, ideally situated close to Old Towne (the "e" is silent) Orange with no sense of hunger.

I enter my closet, pull open the drawer and grab the first shirt off the top of the pile.  It's one I wear often, as I don't take the time to search through the shirts at the bottom of the drawer.  Besides, my favorite shirts are always at the top.  That's why they're there.  Duh.

I put on my new pair of khakis, pants I didn't really need, but I had tried them on at Old Navy and I thought I looked pretty good.  Especially when I wear it with my black North Face Jacket.  I think it makes me look part adventurer, part worker, part down-to-earth guy, an image I'd love to convey.

I open up the refrigerator to make myself lunch for the day when I realize that we've left our lunch supplies at church.  I could grab a few slices of bread to make a sandwich with the meat and cheese we have.  Or I could use the new Trader Joe gift cards we have to buy myself something for lunch.  I choose the latter.  I'll always have sandwiches.  I won't always have TJ gift cards.

After arriving at church, I sit down at my desk, surrounded by piles of papers and books, some of which have felt very neglected as of late.  I grab my Bible and open to Exodus 17, the story of God's provision of manna for the Israelites.

It's amazing really.  They wake up each morning and food is there for them, lying on the ground, waiting to be collected, like a fresh blanket of snow.  As each family gathers food, they find that there is always enough for each day, never more, never less.

They did this for 40 years.  Each day, waking up to a fresh blanket of food covering the ground, just enough for each day.  I wonder if they ever took it for granted?  Or was each day as exciting as the first?  Did there come a point in time, after they had gone through their "365 Ways to Cook Manna" cookbook a few times, they were, dare I say it, ungrateful?  It sure did.  Numbers 11 documents their desire for a little meat to go with their manna.

Those silly Israelites.  If only their hearts weren't so hardened.  If only they didn't try to gather more than they needed.  If only they were truly grateful for the things God had given them.  If I had lived through the wilderness wandering, I'm sure I would have been grateful.

I best be going.  I've got a dinner to make.  Or maybe we'll eat out.  We don't really have much good food to eat anyway.

Slowing Down for Lent

In America we've lost the art & space of stillness. We are a super time-oriented culture. When we were in Ireland last summer, I was shocked to see there were no clocks in any of the hotel rooms. Sometimes our wake up calls were 20 minutes early. To me this seemed crazy, but they were just taking their time and slowly enjoying their life as it happened. The Church in other countries sometimes calls the American Church the "Happy Clappy" church. Our worship services reflect it - 3 fast songs to get us excited, 1 power ballad reflective song, then back on our feet clapping, before we hear a sermon and we're off to lunch. Here in Orange County, we're accustomed to a happy-clappy, fast paced lifestyle. I find myself pasting on a smile, packing my schedule full of activities, hopping from point A to B all day before getting home at 10pm and starting it all over again. In a state of perpetual haste, lots of things get run over, and quality time with the Lord is no exception.

So when Calvin asked me the other morning if we wanted to give up something for Lent, I decided that I'm going to give up speeding. I meant this most literally. Our friend Brendan (whose wisdom you can read in his own blog, Watch . Listen . Be .) gave up speeding for Lent a few years ago. He noted a few things - 1. You don't get anywhere significantly faster if you speed, 30 seconds, maybe. 2. Slowing down to the speed limit helps you slow down your heart & mind as well. I've been practicing slowing down on the freeways the last few days, and it's amazing how a small, intentional action can change my attitude as I start to my day. As cars whiz past me at 85mph+, I don't feel angry, or the need to compete, or change lines every 30 seconds to get 5 yards ahead. I feel calmer & more present in the car to listen to the radio, to pray, to sing, whatever. My heart takes cues from my body slowing down.

I'm hoping that this physical slowing will bleed into the attitude of my heart and mind. As I slow down in my car, in trying to multitask 4 things at once, in my work, in my time getting ready in the morning, etc. I'm praying that God will open my eyes to see his movement around me. That in my new commitment to slowness, I'll spend more time reflecting & listening to God in my daily time in the Word, not just crossing it off my list. I'm confident He's already moving in my midst, but most of the time I'm flying past him, too busy & too fast to notice anything around me.

In my hurried, speeding state I usually feel a little bit crazy. A little bit (probably a lot) rude to my husband as I'm rushing around the house. A little bit more important than the people I'm speeding past. A little bit self-consumed. Though in the moment running a little late or getting stuck behind that car on the freeway seems inconvenient, I think this "sacrifice" for Lent will slowly shape me more into Christ-likeness. And drawing closer to Jesus is what Lent's all about right?

Daddy Issues

A few weeks ago, I (Kenzie) read through the account of Abraham & Isaac in Genesis 22. Here God tests Abraham's faithfulness by asking him to sacrifice his only son as an offering. Like many others who have grown up in the church, I've heard this story time and time again. It's easy to read the story in light of its ending. God sends an angel to stop Abraham from killing his son.& instead provides a ram to sacrifice on the mountain. Hooray! We happily gloss over the details, then admire Abraham's faith and devotion to God. Not this time. I finished reading, turned to Calvin, and said "Okay, now where are the follow up chapters that talk about how Isaac never trusted his dad again, spent the rest of his life in therapy recovering from trauma, and decided this "God of Abraham" thing was not for him? Can you imagine the conversation between Abraham & Sarah when they return from their trip? "Welcome back, honey, how was your trip with your dad? Good bonding time?"

But, as with many of the details of the Bible, the reader is left to imagine. Daddy issues. That's what I imagine. Serious PTSD, trust problems, and big-time daddy issues. In fact, this story haunted me for weeks. I really struggled with why God would test Abraham like this. We praise Abraham for his faithfulness, yet I have to wonder about the task set before him. Anyone who tried to do the same today in the name of God would end up with CPS at their front door & a nice, long jail sentence.

Calvin gave me a good read on this, which gave good insights, but still didn't ease the tension I felt. As I reflected & struggled through my questions, I have come to no profound or comforting conclusion. In fact, it still makes me really uncomfortable. But as I continue to wrestle with my discomfort over this story, I've realized how comfortable I've become with the gospel. Here is this story of a father, asked to sacrifice his one and only son, and I am appalled. I'm cringing, sweating, then relieved that he doesn't have to go through with it. Yet here's another story I'm very comfortable with - a father sacrifices his one and only son, who willingly agrees to die, and no one stops it. In fact the crowds encourage it. And I'm indifferent. Hmm...sound like a familiar story line?

My intense discomfort with Abraham's story has only highlighted my silence to the Father's willingness to do the same. Abraham proved his love and devotion to the Lord. And the Lord has proved his love, devotion, and forgiveness to us in Jesus. He has spared nothing to pursue us, to show us His amazing love, yet sometimes I sit back with my own spiritual daddy issues, uncertain if I'm ready to trust Him.

May I continue to hear with fresh ears and react when I hear the absurdity of the gospel - that a Father would give his only Son to ransom us. That deserves a reaction. It's a story worth telling. It's a God worth getting to know.