Dirty Snow Angel

I saw a quote once that said "This isn't heaven, we don't have to be perfect yet." I pondered and wondered if this was a spiritual way of saying that one could do whatever one wanted, at least until you get to heaven.

I know that isn't true, but the phrase haunts me. Too many times I have tried to be perfect only to find myself in a heap feeling like a miserable failure. Some judge me, but true friends console me. They even assure me that my imperfections are what they like about me. How crazy is that?

But how does one lead others in a faith that they themselves have doubts about? Wow, that is a mouthful. And a heart-full as well.

Almost four years ago, on an outing to Mt Rainier, I couldn't resist the temptation to make a snow angel. If there is snow, an angel must be made in it. This is my theory and I am sticking to it. The snow was anything but fresh and clean, but the temptation still egged me on.

Today I look at these pictures of the result of that temptation and see a dirty snow angel. I can't help but feel that the "little angel" that made it at times has also been a little dirty. Doubts creep in concerning what God has for me. Doubts turn to frustration that end up as depression... and the dirt seeps in.

This isn't heaven...I don't have to be perfect yet...but I must not let dirty doubt seep in and melt into the corners of my heart. Can a dirty snow angel, or the maker of one, still be used of God? Even in all her imperfections? I hope so.

Psalm 51:7-11 (NLT) Purify me from my sins, and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow. Oh, give me back my joy again; you have broken me— now let me rejoice. Don’t keep looking at my sins. Remove the stain of my guilt. Create in me a clean heart, O God. Renew a loyal spirit within me. Do not banish me from your presence, and don’t take your Holy Spirit from me.

Take Heart!

I have heard there are troubles of more than one kind.

Some come without help and some others I find.

I can whine and complain and have a good bawl.

But really some troubles aren’t troubles at all.

Sometimes a thought tromps all around in my mind,

Stirs up my spirit and grips my heart in a bind.

It’s the enemy’s tricks, I know it’s plain crazy

But my brain tends to get a just little bit hazy.

See that mole hill o’er yonder, the one that’s so small?

If I rant on and on I can push it up tall.

Then I’ll stare at Mole Mountain, with my hands on my hips.

Tears will stream down my face, and leave salt on my lips.

Hopelessness will move in, Faithless brings her tent.

I don’t ever recall posting a sign: “This Space for rent”!

But then I’ll remember, the WORD lives within me

I can hear in my heart: “Be thrown into the sea!”

I’ll scrape up the fresh dirt,

With a feeling of mirth.

I’ll fill a big bucket,

In the lake I will chuck it!

Then I’ll plop my bum in the sand,

Watch the sun kiss the land.

And savor the moment,

When I beat the opponent!

I have heard there are troubles
of more than one kind.

Some come from ahead 
and some come from behind.

But I've got a big God. I'm all ready you see.

Now my troubles are going to have troubles with me! 

 John 16:33b: "In this world you will have trouble, but take heart! I have overcome the world."

Let Go

Life is just a grab bag of donuts; stale, squished, and mangled.

When I was pregnant with my second baby, I was craving a donut…like REALLY craving. I packed up my two-year-old daughter and headed to a local grocery store bakery with a maternity mission in mind. I stood in front of the donut display case and eyed the perfect one to satisfy my needs. A chocolate frosted, Bavarian cream filled delight. There was something about the combination of chocolate, fried bread dough, and creamy wonder that called to me.

The woman behind the counter began to grab donuts from the nearly empty case and shove them into a bag. I watched her take the dry plain ones, misshaped maple bars, and lemon filled leftovers and pile them one on top the other, shaking the bag to adjust its contents.

I finally spoke up and pointed to the Bavarian cream donut. She told me she had just enough to fill a grab bag and if I wanted it I would need to purchase the whole bag.

I didn’t want the dried out, mangled mess she shoved in the bag. I only wanted one donut, but she refused to sell it to me. Doesn’t she know you should never get between an eight month pregnant woman and her craving? Seriously!

Life is just a grab bag of donuts.

This is the time of year many reflect and resolve. Reflect on the past twelve month’s unfulfilled hopes and dreams, and resolve to establish a better way to achieve them in the New Year. Recycled dreams.

This seems to be the time of year I sit with my grease stained bag of stale, squished, mangled dreams and wonder if I should toss the whole bag. Go on a dream diet. Live by the seat of my pants and see where I land. Come what may. You know, live Doris Day style…que sera sea.

It’s hard to dream, yet I’m reminded in Proverbs 29:18 that “Where there is no vision, the people perish…”

One of my favorite animated movies is Joseph King of Dreams. If there is someone that could have totally given up on his dreams, it was Joseph. There’s a song in the movie that has a profound line in it:

“I’ve let go the need to know why, ‘cause You know better than I.”

 For me, I don’t know what to dream anymore, but I do know the Dream Giver.

And I’ve let go.

Oh My Emmanuel

I stuffed a stick into the fire and watched the sparks fly. I wasn’t worried about wild animals. The old men’s snores would scare away any threats to the flock. Being the youngest, the lot fell on me to stay awake through the night.

A random bleat mingled with the dull clang of a sheep’s bell startled me and forced my chin off my chest with a jerk. I couldn’t risk getting caught nodding off or I’d forever be stuck on night watch until I learned my lesson.

I stoked the fire again. The sensation of blazing heat on my face, coinciding with the cool night air on my backside, inspired me to spin around to warm my hind-end. Facing the inky blackness, my eyes struggled to adjust.  I rubbed them with my fist but a blurred, halo-white form remained.

“What is out there?” I swiped at my watery eyes with the back of my hand.

“Don’t be afraid,” a voice boomed out of nowhere.

I jumped back and felt my foot land in the warm ashes. In the heart of the whiteness, a figure moved towards me. Cornered, I reached for my staff but froze when the voice spoke again.

“I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day, in the city of David, a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign to you: You will find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.”

Afraid I’d gone mad in my sleepless imaginings, I was thankful to hear the others stumble to their feet.  Just then, the horizon lit up and crystal clear voices cried out saying: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace and goodwill towards men!”

Everyone fumbled over the partial words they heard, piecing them together to make sense of it all in their grogginess.

“Father, Father,” I shoved my way through the men. Toe-to-toe with the man who diligently taught me the scriptures, I whispered for his ears only. “Emmanuel…from the words of the prophet Isaiah…could it be?”

Father stroked his beard and gazed past me to the city below. “The house of David...”

The others huddled in closer. Father placed the palm of his hand over my heart. I’m sure the sound of it thumping could be heard by everyone.

 “Indeed, it could be.”

We rushed down the hillside and through the streets of Bethlehem, not knowing where we were to turn next, yet we ran straightway to the place where He lay.

I stared at the tiny swaddled infant. We could see His eyes, nose, and His sweet lips were pursed, freshly satisfied with nourishment from His mother. Before I dared to step forward, I glanced at my father, his beard moist with tears. 

The mother nodded to welcome me. She couldn’t have been any older than I, yet I stood looking into the eyes of the virgin we all spoke of from the familiar prophecies. The magnitude of it hit me and I fell to my face and whispered, “God is with us…Oh my Emmanuel.”

***

I stumbled through the streets, balking at the crowds, with my sacrificial lamb wrapped around my neck. The preparations for Passover caused mayhem in the city, but an unmistakable tension filled the air.

My father always called me a tender soul, able to sense when the Spirit of God mingled among us. Today my heart hammered in my chest. I remembered a time long ago on a grassy hillside when it pounded so hard. I sensed the Almighty’s presence, but not in the same way.

Ahead of me a mob shouted, “Crucify him!”

I could barely breathe. I used my bulk to force my way through the masses and followed the throng to Golgotha. One quick glance into the eyes of a distraught woman and I knew who hung on the cross.

The prophecies swirled through my memory. I clutched my bleating sacrifice to my chest in an effort to quiet my heart. Intermittent words from the Man on the cross pierced through my soul. The guttural cries of His mother’s agony ripped at me.

“Father, into Your hands, I commit my spirit.”

The animal in my arms quivered.

“It is finished.”

Instantly, the earth shook and darkness enveloped us. I fell to my knees, buried my face into the snow white fleece of the lamb, and whispered, “Oh my Emmanuel!”

_________

** Portions of scripture have been quoted from the NKJV.

Luke 2:10-14

Matthew 27:46

John 19:30

Luke 23:46