Our Garbage Disposal...

Eager to reduce the amount we send to landfill every week, Paul and I have taken to sharing our extra food with the neighbors who live behind us. Their culinary tastes are exceedingly diverse. I've always prided myself in the broadness of my palate, but Barbara, Bessy, Belle, Babette, Belinda, Beatrice and Buttercup have far surpassed my expertise. Then again, perhaps they're just too polite to turn down our offerings of onion and banana peels...

Food for Thought from Farf

Is the Holy Spirit eternal like the Father and the Son? Or is His existence limited to the history of our planet? When Jesus went home to His Father He told His disciples, I cannot be with you any longer, but I will send you a substitute (i.e. the Holy Spirit). When in Heaven, our direct contact with Jesus (and His Father) will be re-established and, hence, a substitute seems superfluous.
If that is not the case what then is the role of the Holy Spirit?

This paragraph was sent to me by my Danish grandfather (Farf). We would both be interested in what any of you have to think about this...

The Plurality of God

Many of the world's major religions do not believe in the Trinity: the concept that God is composed of three beings (the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit) acting as one. Islam, Judaism, and even some forms of Christianity hold that God is one and only one. God is singular - never plural. I find it especially interesting that Jews hold this belief, considering something I recently discovered about the Old Testament's grammatical treatment of God. The Hebrew word for God is "Elohim." The ending "-im" always denotes a plural. If the writers of the OT had wanted to portray God as singular, they would have used the noun "Eloh" instead. However, they chose specifically to implement the use of the grammatical plural ending. Interestingly enough, although the noun "Elohim" is uniformly used to refer to God, the verbs which accompany His actions are almost always in singular! I do not think the Hebrew writers were linguistically incompetent. They knew what they meant when they used a plural noun with singular verbs: a morphological equation for the Trinity.

I suppose it's incorrect to say that the Hebrew writers concocted the theme. The Orchestrator of the scriptures chose the description Himself. For illustration, let's simply read verse 3:15 from the book of Exodus: "And God (plural) said (singular) moreover unto Moses, Thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel, the LORD God (plural) of your fathers, the God (plural) of Abraham, the God (plural) of Isaac, and the God (plural) of Jacob, hath sent (singular) me unto you: this is my (singular) name for ever, and this is my (singular) memorial unto all generations."

Plenty of Paw Paw

During an excursion along the Maury River last Friday, we lit upon a whole "orchard" of wild paw paw trees. The fruit has a pleasant mango/papaya-like flavor. Yet, interestingly enough, it seems to be unappealing to both the mammal and insect kingdoms: not a specimen of it had been touched! We decided at once to load our canoe with as many pieces of fruit as it could hold. Clambering ashore, Robby, Martina and I tossed fruit at Paul while he did his best to catch and deposit them in the boat. Despite the lost samples which floated downstream, we ended up with a fair amount. Even after parceling some off to my parents, Martina, and Robby, we maintained 12 pounds for ourselves (about 80 individual pieces). Now we are enjoying paw paws for breakfast. And paw paws for lunch. And paw paws for supper. This morning, I ate ten. You know, I'm starting to think that if I were a wild animal living on the banks of the Maury, I wouldn't eat paw paw either...

The Son of Man

Studying Hebrew and Greek has really opened up the scriptures to me in a whole new way. So many little, linguistic nuances are lost during translation, and it's amazing to discover these ancient details for the first time. This week, I was blessed with a discovery relating to the term, "the son of man." Jesus uses this title repeatedly in the New Testament to refer to himself. Why does he choose to say "the son of man" instead of "the son of God"? Although I cannot claim all-encompassing knowledge regarding this point, one linguistic detail came to my attention while I was pondering the question: in Hebrew, the word for "man" and the word for "Adam" are used interchangeably. By identifying himself as "the son of man/Adam", Jesus was reminding his Jewish listeners to hearken back to God's promise in the Garden of Eden. "And there shall be enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed and her seed. And He shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise His heel." (Gen. 3:15) As "the son of man/Adam", Jesus was the long-looked-for Messiah, the one who had come to bruise the serpent's head.

Musings on Messiah

"When I reach the pearly gates, I've got a question for God." Professor Smith removed her spectacles for polishing and glanced up at her music history class. "Why was it that Handel was blessed with the composition of Messiah instead of Bach?" I rubbed my chin, carefully weighing her words. This question had already troubled me on several occasions. Bach and Handel were two very different men. Bach was a devoted father and husband, using the funds he acquired from his music in order to support a large family. Handel was single with no known children, using the income he made from his music in order to line his pockets. Bach spent the majority of his efforts composing sacred cantatas and religious works. Handel poured the majority of his energies into creating operatic masterpieces. Bach was humble. Handel was proud. Bach loved the Lord, studied his Bible regularly, and dedicated all of his compositions to God's glory. Handel displayed little interest in spiritual matters throughout his lifetime. The one exception was his testimony of a celestial revelation while composing Messiah. So, why did God inspire Handel to write this monumental work instead of Bach? Wasn't Bach much more worthy? Didn't he deserve the recognition?
Professor Smith replaced her spectacles on the bridge of her nose and continued. "Perhaps if Bach had written Messiah, we never would have heard it..." What an interesting thought. Bach died in obscurity. People considered his music old-fashioned. Over a third of his sacred cantatas have been lost or destroyed. The prestigious Handel, on the other hand, was well-known and respected throughout his entire lifetime. People paid attention to his music. Perhaps this is why God chose him to be the bearer of His inspiring, musical message. I wonder too, if it was a way for God to reach out to Handel personally - something that Bach already had...

Good Gifts

"Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!" Matt 7:9-11
Traditionally, marriage is thought to be the final slice in the chord that once tied a kid to his or her parents. Mom and Dad are at last free from the dutiful bonds of child rearing, and are free to think: "They're off on their own now. No more need of shelter, discipline, or providence from out hands!" Thankfully, neither Paul's nor my parents are subscribers to this viewpoint. In fact, their generosity seems to have veritably exploded. Perhaps it's because they enjoy having a new family member to shower love upon. Perhaps it's because they're aware of what dreadful pinch pennies we both are. But whatever the case, Paul and I have found our little home flooded with edible gifts. Whenever we come within close proximity of either set of parents, it's impossible to escape the watermelons, peaches, bread, pretzels, peanut butter, rice, granola, lentils, soy milk, and flax seeds that come flying in our direction. I couldn't help but marvel when I read the verse quoted above. If I'm so impressed at my parents' unsolicited generosity, how much more should I be impressed with God's! He's given me an ideal life partner, wonderful siblings and parents, an education, food to eat, a house to live in, a natural world to enjoy, and on and on and on. If He's given me all of these things, for which I haven't asked, how much more will He provide for me when I actually do ask? "Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:6,7

Hangin' Around

Actually, not really. The summer has proven to be characteristically busy with little time for plain lazing. Yet, Paul and I did find the time to hoist my old Guatemalan hammock from our cabin rafters this week. It melds with the aura of our summer abode perfectly.

Spring "Shoots"

Comfort in the Signs of the Times

Many faithful heroes past,
In their trying hour,
Have withstood the tempter's blast
By God's grace and power.
When alone and lost they felt,
Strangled by a sinful belt,
When by evil torn and rent,
God's encourgement was sent.

Noah's family was alone
In their ark of wood.
Buffeted by tempest's moan,
rising on a flood.
While in number only eight,
Trusted they, despite their state,
And God ebbed the mighty flow
And in comofort stretched His bow.

Gideon was full of fear,
Trembled he, with dread
As the battle time drew near,
Set not far ahead.
Yet in humble trusting he
Asked God for a sign to see,
And God sent Him special peace
And in comfort dried his fleece.

Moses didn't want to go
Back to Egypt's land.
By himself great wonders show,
All alone to stand.
Yet by faith he took the leap
Trusting God His word to keep,
And God honored from above
And through signs He proved His love.

So may we, in these dark days
Trust what God has said.
And despite the sinful haze,
glimpse the light ahead.
Every scripture student knows,
History is about to close.
Yet, the signs we needn't fear:
They bring hope that God is near.

Honing the Senses

Muck. Leafless twigs. Soggy trash revealed by the melted snow. Gray mist obscuring everything. This is Vejlefjord in March. Even the most optomistic soul quickly becomes discouraged from searching for visible beauty in the surrounding view. I have thus found it necessary to hone my other senses in order to maintain a moderate degree of cheerfulness. If everything is ugly, why not just close my eyes? I have four other sense with which to appreciate the world. While jogging through the bleak woods a few weeks ago, I decided to do just that. Turning my eyes down to the ground, I focused all of my attention on my ears. I would listen for the sounds of beauty if I couldn't see the signs of beauty. The morning was still; not a breath of breeze rustled the dead twigs. Yet, as I panted up and down the muddy knolls, I enjoyed one of the sweetest symphonies nature can muster: a chorus of bird calls. The participants were infinitely diverse. A blue tit peeped at me from a passing bush. A pheasant and his mate squawked from the top of a distant hill. A fjord swan whistled shrilly through his wings as he flew over my head. I shook my head in awe at the wonder of it all. What variety there is to be enjoyed through only one sense! In fact, not only through one sense, but more specific still, through only one class of the animal kindgom! I had only listened to bird noises. Yet, the sounds had been so vastly different, that I never would've guessed they came from similar creatures unless I had already known. God is infinite. He cannot be limited by our weaknesses and faults. If we can't see, He will call to us. If we can't hear, He will reach out and touch us. When we fence ourselves in, when we block our alternate routes, when we limit our attention to only one possibility, God can still get through to us. If we look for Him through the tiny peephole in our self-constructed box, He will reveal himself. He works through our limitations. He has an endless variety of ways to reach us, no matter what barriers there appear to be. If all is muck and debri around you, if you recognize your limitations, then hone your remaining senses towards God. He has a way to reach you, if you want to be reached.

Looking Up

Vejlefjord is bordered on several sides by an inspiring beechwood forest. On pleasant Sunday mornings and afternoons, its many jogging trails and footpaths are visited by industrious Danes, intent on performing their ritualistic, weekly exercise. Although I love jogging, I have discovered an alternative mode of enjoying myself in the Danish wood: tree climbing. The smooth bark, stretching branches, and majestic bearing of Vejefjord's beech trees have reawakened my eleven-year-old passion for scrambling. With each new tree, I am driven to the highest bough by an inner urge I can't suppress. The rewards have been entirely worth the frozen fingers and the scuffed pant legs.

At lunch today, I decided to pocket my apples and brown bread and find a forest perch in which to enjoy them. Following the path towards the donkey field, it wasn't long before I found a beckoning beech. It stood directly at the corner of two intersecting paths. Its posture was elegant and inviting. With several thoughtful foot placements and hand grasps I had wound myself around its trunk and was making promising headway. I was already about 3 meters in altitude. Yet, there were still six meters of climbable branch space above me. I pressed steadily upward, heedless of the wind and cold. All at once, a heavy clumping sound interrupted my concentration. Turning my eyes downward, I beheld Vibeke, our friendly literature teacher, jogging down the hill towards my tree. I smiled and waited for her wave of recognition. But I waited in vain. Without so much as a "good day," she thudded directly underneath me, paying no heed to my twig snapping or branch bending! Amazed by her lack of observation, I continued my ascent, chuckling to myself in amusement.

The brown rolls were delicious. Somehow, food always tastes better outside. As I munched contentedly, I watched a happy couple and their dog climbed out of their car and make their way across the field towards my lookout. I waited for the dog to begin barking and circling my trunk. I waited for the couple to holler a greeting. But again, my anticipation was disappointed. The three of them paused briefly at the bend in the trail to sniff and chat, but continued quickly onward. They walked directly underneath me, with never so much as an upward glance. I nearly dropped my apple in astonishment. Could it be that Danes were used to seeing bright red sweatshirts high up in beech trees during the leafless season? I wasn't trying to be inconspicuous. Could it be that people just weren't paying attention? As I pondered this thought, Vibeke returned from her jogging loop and thudded under me again. She still didn't know I was there.

How often do we look up? How often do we miss the things above, due to our focus on the things below? If the couple, or the dog, or Vibeke had simply turned their eyes upward, they would have been met by a smiling face and a friendly "hallo!" How often do we look up? How often do we miss God's blessing, simply because of our preoccupation with what's around us?

Pray for Power

Ask ye of the Lord rain in the time of the latter rain; so the Lord shall make bright clouds, and give them showers of rain, to every one grass in the field. Zech. 10:1.

Our heavenly Father claims not at our hands that which we cannot perform. He desires His people to labor earnestly to carry out His purpose for them. They are to pray for power, expect power, and receive power, that they may grow up into the full stature of men and women in Christ Jesus.

Not all members of the church are cultivating personal piety; therefore they do not understand their personal responsibility. They do not realize that it is their privilege and duty to reach the high standard of Christian perfection. . . . Are we looking forward to the latter rain, confidently hoping for a better day, when the church shall be endued with power from on high and thus fitted for work? The latter rain will never refresh and invigorate the indolent, who do not use the powers God has given them.

We are in great need of the pure, life-giving atmosphere that nurtures and invigorates the spiritual life. We need greater earnestness. The solemn message given us to give to the world is to be proclaimed with greater fervency, even with an intensity that will impress unbelievers, leading them to see that the Most High is working with us, that He is the source of our efficiency and strength. . . .

God has given us talents to be used in the upbuilding of His kingdom. . . . Do we ask ourselves the question, How am I using the talents my Lord has given me? Have you given . . . to God only a feeble, diseased service? . . .

Are you using all your powers in an effort to bring the lost sheep back to the fold? There are thousands upon thousands in ignorance who might be warned. Pray as you have never prayed before for the power of Christ. Pray for the inspiration of His Spirit, that you may be filled with a desire to save those who are perishing. Let the prayer ascend to heaven, "God be merciful unto us, and bless us; and cause his face to shine upon us; that thy way may be known upon earth, thy saving health among all nations" (Ps. 67:1, 2).

From Heavenly Places, Chapter 332, by Ellen G. White

The Last Fifteen Minutes

“You’ve only got fifteen minutes left to your life. What are you going to do with it?” The preacher points his finger accusingly at the television audience, and the four of us fidget uncomfortably on the couch. We are watching one of my Revelation seminar DVDs in the girls dorm lounge. It has nearly become a tradition between Maria (our Slovakian Student Missionary) and myself to pop in one of these discs on Friday nights for general viewing after vespers. We never know who else will wander into the room. Sometimes it’s our confrontational Atheist student who is looking for a quibble. Sometimes it’s a pair of bored girls who want to make sure we aren’t watching something more interesting. But tonight, it is Tina, a young substitute teacher, and Jeanette, an aspiring nineth-grader. As the theme music comes on and the credits begin to role, the four of us ponder the preacher’s closing hypothetical question. What if we only had fifteen minutes left to life? What would we do with it? “Call my parents, perhaps?” suggests Jeanette somewhat doubtfully. “Snatch up my Bible and begin reading very fast?” says Maria, with a twinkle in her eye. “I might fall to my knees in prayer…” I propose, though not entirely convinced. We sit quietly for a few moments, mulling over the countless possibilities for such a short period of time. One by one I reject our previous ideas. My parents already know I love them. Why call them? The Bible is a wonderful book, but would a hurried fifteen minutes be beneficial to my grave? Falling to my knees in prayer might be the best option. Prayer never hurts. Yet, if I am already confident in my relationship with God, perhaps I should use my final moments on Earth for something else… “I tend to think that I would run outside and begin yelling to random people about the love of Jesus.” states Tina, entirely serious. We all turn to her in surprise. But as we think over what she has said, we can find no satisfactory rebuttal. Why not run out into the streets and begin grabbing pedestrians, telling them earnestly about what Christ has done for us? Isn’t that our mission on Earth anyway? Surely our self-conscious inhibitions would vaporize in the face of death. We wouldn’t worry about what people thought of us. But as the validity of this thought sinks in, we are threatened with an even more daunting question: Why wait till the last fifteen minutes?

On the day of Pentecost, the disciples ran out into the streets and began preaching. They did not have fifteen minutes left to live. Most of them had many years ahead of them, all of which would be filled with scorn from learned theologians and odd looks from common laymen. Yet, they preached God’s word all the same. “We are waiting for the latter rain of the holy spirit.” we tell ourselves in consolation. There’s no real need to make such a drastic move until then. Is there? The disciples were told to wait in Jerusalem until they received God’s promise of the Holy Spirit. We have received no such charge regarding the latter rain. We are told only to be watchful and pray because we know not at what hour Christ is coming. What will He find us doing in those last fifteen minutes?

God's word

“Give me the Bible, star of gladness gleaming to cheer the wanderer, lone and tempest-tossed!” Noting that we were both feeling particularly “tempest-tossed,” Paul and I recently decided to seek that star of gleaming gladness with greater resolve. For the past week, we’ve each devoted two hours of study to the Bible each day. Our schedules are just as busy, if not busier, than they’ve always been. Yet somehow, the Lord has answered our prayers by providing us with the desired amount of time in His word daily. And what results! I can’t speak for Paul, but I can say that for myself, I’ve been ignited with a stronger desire to read even more of God’s book. Two hours a day is simply not enough! No longer do I look at my daily readings as religious drudgery that must be performed out of duty to God, but rather, as an exceptional honor and blessing from His hand. Every passage I read makes me want to read more. The Bible is such an amazing book. The more we’re exposed to it, the more we understand, and the more we are astounded by its profundity! Each line and chapter and book and testament reveal themselves to be more tightly woven together than we ever imagined. God’s face shines through the message in greater clarity. But at the same time, it attains a level of beautiful complexity that is beyond our ability to fathom. What a wonderful book. What a wonderful God! I encourage you to give your Bible a solid chunk of time out of your day today. You’ll find yourself agreeing with the hymnist that the "precept and promise," the combination of "law and love," won't vanish until eternal day.

Brown Goat Cheese

There are many things I savor
about the color brown.
Its constancies don't waiver
as other hues in town.
Where white may fade to grey,
and yellow be unstable,
where orange may pass away,
steady brown is able!

Although I love cows dearly
and though I think them cute,
Not one could serve quite nearly,
as goat in substitute.
A cow will only bellow,
while goats sublimely bleet.
Cows are fat and mellow,
while goats are strong and sweet.

A creature and a color.
Where do these verses meet?
By adding one another
you'll find the task complete.
Where other cheeses waiver,
where others fail to please,
There's one with strength and flavour:
Hat's off to Brown Goat Cheese!