And can it be…?

It’s my responsibility to choose the songs for our Sunday sunrise service. The Easter Sunday selection often falls on me, I think, or maybe it’s just a reflection of how many years I’ve been in Spain to have the selection fall on me (or a reflection of my age and coinciding inability to remember).

There is an overwhelming number of songs to choose from. The traditional hymns that make the male voices boom, “Up. From. The grave. He. Arose!” to some of the newer songs that encompass Jesus’ life and passion. I only get to choose a few, but that doesn’t stop me from snooping through other people’s Spotify playlists.

What are some of your favorites? And why?

One of mine (one of many) is “And Can It Be, That I Should Gain?” by Charles Wesley (1738). The lyrics are powerful, the music beautiful (especially with an organ!). The hymn starts with questions, evoking shame and guilt.

And can it be that I should gain
An interest in the Savior's blood?
Died He for me, who caused His pain?
For me, who Him to death pursued?

The hymn goes on to share the mystery and grit of the Savior’s death followed by the hymn writer’s own testimony of freedom and life from the living “Christ my own.” Yet, through the entire song, we are pulled back to the refrain:

Amazing love! how can it be
That Thou, my God, should die for me?

A reminder of our helplessness before God without Jesus’ death and resurrection for “Adam’s helpless race.” A reason to celebrate Resurrection Day with gratitude.

Photo by Henrique Jacob on Unsplash

“Savor” to “survive” and back again

Last year, I succumbed to the pressure of choosing a word for the year. Many find this practice useful, helping them to reestablish their life’s purpose and set achievable goals and the like. I, however, have never found it particularly helpful, typically forgetting my chosen word by mid-February at the latest.

But, like I said, last year I succumbed again. After sorting through a list of candidates, I selected “savor.” My choice came from a desperate attempt to hang on to the shreds that life was offering me.

Ironically, I didn’t forget my word last year. But I watched as it morphed from “savor” to “survive.” That change stung because it didn’t even feel like a choice.

I survived the coming summer heat, physical exhaustion, the hours upon hours of traveling, coordination, public speaking, and the other things I don’t typically enjoy. I smiled as I networked and made new connections and friends and caught up with dear old friends. I was glad…but savor? No. I felt like I was clutching at the precious moments as they passed by.

So here I am at the beginning of a new year, analyzing the last one and seeing that, in its own way, last year was indeed something I could savor. The moments still slipped by too quickly, but their accumulation brought healing. That frantic juggling of a schedule allowed me to see a doctor and finally get some answers. Those times with friends squeezed into my trips and around my trips gave me the input and support I desperately needed. And the list goes on.

So I look back on 2023 and savor the memories because I am a little more mature, a little more like Jesus because of the stories of last year.

That said, I think I’ll refrain from choosing a word for 2024; it’s too much pressure!

What about you? Have you chosen a word for this year?

Behold your God!

I shiver as I write this. The cold is gliding down from the wind sills, nestling in my lap and curling around my ankles like an unwelcome cat. Still, I love this time of year. Christmas music never fails to remind me that, after all, it is “the most wonderful time of the year.” And who doesn’t want to walk down the street to Andrea Bocelli singing “Jingle Bells” over the street speakers?

My head is full of more than dancing sugar plums today. No, it’s full of Christmas plans–that last minute gift, Christmas cooking and baking, a neglected newsletter, and a shopping list that’s growing by the minute. But beneath all of this, anticipation swells.

As I make my Christmas plans, I see this framed print on my shelf: Jesus washing Peter’s feet. Jesus–Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace–washing the feet of a created one only hours before His crucifixion. Behold your God!

It’s no wonder Peter cries: “You shall never wash my feet.”

But Jesus replies: “If I do not wash you, you have no share with me.” (Jn. 13:8)

This is what Christmas is about, isn’t it? God in flesh bent over our filth, gently washing us clean. He says:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, 
    because he has anointed me 
    to proclaim good news to the poor. 
He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives 
    and recovering of sight to the blind, 
    to set at liberty those who are oppressed, 
to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.” (Lk. 4:18-19)

This is Christmas.

Have a joy-filled-to-the-brim Christmas, everyone! ❤️

Art in the photo above available here.

O come, O come

The winter chill has pervaded the bones of my apartment. The tip of my nose is frostbitten, I think. (But then, do I even remember what frostbite is?) Anyway, the extra cold gives an excuse to curl myself around a cup of steaming tea and think about Christmas, the advent of the Messiah.

I could say a lot, but I won’t today. The words in my head are napping now. Do you want to sit in the quiet with me? I’ll turn on Christmas lights and light a candle. To the tune of the gently ticking clock, we can just sit in the anticipation of what is to come.

“O come, Desire of nations, bind
In one the hearts of all mankind;
Bid Thou our sad divisions cease,
And be Thyself our King of Peace.”

From “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel”

Baby Boone

Well, hello, Mr. Boone, my newest little nephew. It’s a delight to meet you. I look forward to many more newborn snuggles over the next few weeks before I travel back to Spain. You won’t remember me, but I’ll remember you.

May this life delight but never absolutely satisfy you. May you invite Jesus to walk with you every step of life’s journey. Even when you stumble on doubt and sin, reach toward Him, not away. Find your satisfaction first in Him.

I love you, little man.

Toddler poking baby's eye — “Baby Boom” with big brother, Zayne. (Photo credit: M.H.)

From death comes life

Happy Easter to you all! I’m taking a break from logging our trip to Switzerland to wish you all a wonderful Easter weekend.

As you celebrate–maybe with communion, a sunrise service, cinnamon rolls, and candy-filled Easter eggs–celebrate the life that Jesus offers through His death and resurrection. John writes toward the end of his Gospel that he has recorded the signs of Jesus “…so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name” (Jn. 20:31).

From death comes life. From His death comes our life. Although that truth is the climax of anything I could write, this year I was reminded that our daily dying also brings life.

“We are called to die to our own righteousness and find our hope, help, and comfort in the righteousness of Jesus given over to our account. This death…is a process of daily scanning our lives to see where things still live in us that should not live, then praying for the strength to die once again. Like the death of Jesus, this death is not a defeat, but a huge and glorious victory. For everywhere you die, you will be resurrected to new life in that area.”
from Journey to the Cross by Paul David Tripp p. 36

Happy Easter, everyone!

Snippets of life

Below are a few things I’ve seen or experienced recently. They’re not written in any particular order or of any particular importance (or of any particular grammatical observance, truth be told). Just some snippets of life.

Speakers wound up in trees and fastened to light posts play “Joy to the World” as I walk down the street, in step with the music. Then I notice others in step with the music–a Muslim family, several Spanish businessmen, and others. “Let eevery heeeart prepaare hiim rooom…”
Russian classmate #1 is disgruntled that she cannot absorb a complex Spanish grammar structure. Russian classmate #2 says: “You’ve only been here 7 years and you want to understand everything. Calm down. We’ve been here for 20 and we still confuse this.” Bulgarian classmate begins to giggle. “Yes, calm down! You still have 13 years of confusion ahead of you!”
After a rain, crushed snails in crushed shells dot the walking/biking trail like flattened M&M buttons.
An elderly man I meet on my morning walk that tells me that his mornings are better on the days we cross paths.
Little boys at the Kings’ Day parade, squeeze around me to get to the front, chattering in hopeful Arabic and clutching rumpled plastic grocery bags to fill with candy.
A winter evening curled up with a book and a cup of lemon balm tea…and Christmas lights I hesitate to take down.
A shopkeeper tells me how long I should spend with the friend I am planning to visit in another town. “Are you going to spend the night at her place? No? Then you need to go before lunch and eat with her and spend a lot of time with her before you leave in the evening.” Oh, how I love to hear the North African perspective on relationships!
As I walk by, an elderly man comes out of a café to speak to me. “How tall are you?” he asks and all five feet of him steps back in surprise when I tell him. He says that the other day he was breakfasting with another man in the café. When I walked by, the other man said he would not like to take me out for breakfast. Because I was so tall, surely I would eat a lot! That makes me self-conscious as I walk home, realizing that my oblivion doesn’t exempt me from being a topic of discussion.
On my way to catch a bus, I notice a lady with her head in the dumpster. She doesn’t have that look of someone who usually sifts through others’ garbage. (And I’m not judging because I have rescued a few garbage items in my life.) But I pause, curious as she bats her broom handle around. “Can I help you?” She mutters something about losing an item. She doesn’t know if it could possibly be in the garbage she took out. I peer in and see a lavender bag of trash on the very bottom of a very empty dumpster. She doesn’t relinquish the broom when I reach for it, but I hold open the dumpster lid while she fishes around. Finally, success! She snags the handles and pulls it out little by little (still muttering). I manage to avoid the linty end of the broom that is headed my way and still make it to my bus on time.
I am at the counter of a North African store when a little boy comes in, not even big enough to see over the counter. He sets a hand-written list on the counter. The shopkeeper grins at him, “Peace be upon you, Arkan. How are you? At peace?” He looks down at Arkan’s mother’s list, reading aloud the first item before Arkan interrupts him. “I want a sucker.” Ahh, that’s how it’s done. And I wonder if suckers are free because he is so stinkin’ cute or if his mother ever notices that the grocery bill is always a little more than she anticipated.

Christmas earthiness

Have you taken the time to contemplate Christmas: the beauty and hope…but also the earthiness? God made flesh. Immanuel.

I read recently that the Bible doesn’t record the bloody agony of Jesus’ entrance into the world, not because God is ashamed of Jesus’ humanity in light of His deity, but because those things were so normal that they weren’t noted. Everything was remarkable about a virgin great with child. What wasn’t so remarkable were the hours she spent delivering that Child.

Jesus was divine, yes. But He was also human. And when we forget His humanity, we forget how much we are known.

Hebrews says, “Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace” (4:16). Why? Because He was tempted as we are, yet without sin. Therefore, He can sympathize with us in our weaknesses (Heb. 4:15).

That, of course, is only one part of the Word being made flesh, but it’s a part that I tend to forget. We are not fighting life’s battles alone. We can come boldly to the throne of grace to “receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Heb. 4:16).

Merry Christmas to you all!

The Half

You tell me I am half
Or maybe even less
When I don’t dream your dreams
Of how my life should be.
But while you count my flaws
And give advice, of course,
You are the one who’s half
By never knowing me.

I wrote this poem for one of the writing prompts my sister and I are doing this year. The inspiration? The countless North African women (and the few men) who have told me, whether directly or indirectly, that my worth is determined by my marital status and number of children.

But this poem is only part of the story. The sting of being under-appreciated for not ticking the “right” boxes has motivated me to find my worth in my Savior. I’m still learning; meanwhile, God has brought many others into my life who value me for being me.

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

Notes from Hospitality 101

I had promised I would summarize a few of the things I learned (and am currently learning!) while researching for an essay on hospitality. If you’re interested in reading the entire essay, send me a message. 🙂

We think of hospitality as taking place in our homes. But hospitality is broader than that; we can take hospitality with us wherever we go by honoring those around us.
Hospitality is not about bowing to the expectations of others. It’s not that we ignore expectations, but neither obligation nor martyrdom is true hospitality. Why? Because our work, our hospitality will never validate us; only God can do that.
Christ followers are commanded to show hospitality. (Check out Titus 1:8, 1 Timothy 5:10, Romans 12:13, Hebrews 13:2, and 1 Peter 4:9.) However, the truth is that we love our comforts. And the other truth is that hospitality isn’t always comfortable. So while it would be easier never to invite anyone into our homes and lives, as Christians, we no longer worship the god of comfort.
If you’re an introvert like me, hospitality may feel like it requires more than you can give. But it doesn’t. Everyone needs boundaries and everyone has limits. If you’re introverted, it doesn’t exempt you from hospitality; it just means that you prepare for hospitality differently than those who have different limits.
True hospitality starts with worship. God is the One who empowers hospitality because He shows us both our imago dei and our depravity, reminding us that we are on the same level as everyone who walks through our door.
Hospitality can be grand and life-changing, but day-to-day hospitality is usually quiet, small, and insignificant.
We cannot wait until we know how to do it “right” or have the “right” circumstances before we show hospitality. If so, we will never start. Perfectionism can stand in the way of God working through us. In fact, hospitality goes hand in hand with humility, creating a space for our own vulnerability.
Speaking of creating spaces, hospitality creates a safe space for relationship regardless of life’s circumstances. Not only that, but we need to be fully present, committed to the privilege of walking with someone on their journey, even as they walk with us on ours. In other words, we should be invested for the long haul.
Hospitality is both living and speaking love and truth, all the while acknowledging that our story is only a part of a bigger story, God’s story.
Yes, hospitality requires much but it also blesses much. We connect with people we may have never known otherwise. We learn to enjoy them instead of use them. We are enriched when we enrich the lives of others, sharing our gifts and partaking of their gifts. We also bless God when we live in obedience to His Word.

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash