SPIRITUAL GIFTS

What is your Spiritual Gift? Do you know? 

The Apostle Paul tells us: “There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit distributes them. There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord. There are different kinds of working, but in all of them and in everyone it is the same God at work. Now to each one the manifestation of the Spirit is given for the COMMON GOOD.” (1 Corinthians 12:4-7) 

A few days ago I was filling out a volunteer application for a ministry I support and wish to serve. One of the questions was "Why do you want to join our ministry?". Without thinking I wrote, "I want my life to make God smile." 

Our Spiritual Gift (or gifts) is not about us. Nor is it necessarily of our choosing. As much as I wish God had given me the voice of an angel to minister in song... it just didn't happen. I have the voice of an alley cat screeching on a picket fence. Instead, God gifted me with a spirit of exuberant encouragement for those who actually do sing like angels. 

The gifts I see in others edify me - challenge me - humble me. 

Last week, my son was in Peru building a worship center, my brother & sister-in-law were in Brazil with a mission team and my cousin was leading hundreds of campers in songs of worship. 

My son is an optometrist. He uses his knowledge as an optometrist to serve others wherever God leads him. But he's just as happy pouring concrete and running electrical wires in 3rd world countries who need a sanctuary...

My sister-in-law thought she was a weak link in the ministry team. But then, she brought out her needlework and God worked His magic. People surrounded her and relationships were formed, opening the door to His Word...

My beautiful little cousin is introverted and shy. But when she opens her mouth to sing, she becomes a 10-Foot Warrior for Jesus, sending His message straight as an arrow into the hearts of young and old, alike... 

Don't ask yourself what you can do for God. Ask God how He wants to use you. He may surprise you. He will likely take you out of your comfort zone. He may send you across the street or across the world. But our orders are clear: To Win As Many As Possible. 

And yes, to make God smile.

Patching Up Superman...

Another chapter has been added to the Haney Chronicles of Near Hits and Misses whereby God has once again swooped in to save our worthless butts. This tale is a bit convoluted (really, aren't they all?) filled with fear, faith, reckoning, gratitude, love, laughter and a not-so-small dose of embarrassment. Pop some popcorn, grab a DP and settle in.

It all began in February, at our Concerts at Sea cruise. This is an annual rock and roll cruise we have been enjoying for a dozen years and many of the cruisers have become very close friends. One such friend – Dave – took the Dickman aside and made him promise to get a stress test. Dave had recently suffered a heart attack and was on a mission to save his friends from the same fate. Dickie explained that although he is freakishly healthy, he has always expected to die with a heart attack... just like his Dad. And frankly, he was fine with that.  Dave brushed away Dickie's bullsh*t and made him promise to get checked out.   Dickie promised. 

The Dickman always keeps his promises.

After returning home, Dickie was single-minded about scheduling a stress test but kept running into obstacles. Three months later, he finally went in for testing. To his surprise, an abnormality showed up on the EKG, indicating possible cardiac issues. The doc wasn't worried, but thought it would be prudent to undergo a heart cath for further diagnosis.

We went in for a radial heart cath and I fully expected to hear nothing but Good News. Not just because of my rose-colored glasses, but also because over the years, the Dickman had somehow managed to convince me that he truly might be Superman.

Even so, there was that tiny niggling reminder of how God is always working in our lives to put us right where we need to be at the right time... placing people in our lives to direct our paths. I couldn't help but wonder if God might be using our friend Dave as His messenger. There was that.

Sure enough, the heart cath revealed Superman's kyptonite: Plaque. Coronary Artery Disease. Blockage in All Three Main Arteries.

Yet, God was already at work. Dickie's RCA had become totally blocked, but over time a network of collateral blood vessels had formed around the blockage, creating a thoroughly efficient bypass. God's bypass. 

Isn't He amazing??

As for the other blockage, it was decided that stents and medication would be sufficient at this time.

The diagnosis was a bit overwhelming. As the Dickman and I walked out of the heart clinic, we felt the ground shifting beneath us. So, we did what any self-respecting heart-clogged Texan would do: we went to eat Mexican food.

While munching on tacos, I looked across the table at my Dickman. My dear, sweet, crazy, beloved Dickman. I have been looking at his pretty face, staring into those gorgeous eyes since I was 14 years old.

“How ya doing, buddy?” I asked. 

“I'm awesome!” he replied while wiping queso off his chin.

“This is the worst part...” I told him. “Finding out that you're human.  I've suspected for years, ever since you made that wrong turn coming back from Dallas and we got lost in Paducah.”

He swore me to secrecy. I understood that he would need some time to process all of this.  It would take a while to readjust his super-hero cape. I complied. Because he's mine, I walk the line.

His stent was scheduled for Thursday. Our family surrounded the hospital-gowned Dickman while he told tall tales from his gurney and flirted with nurses. After hours of delay, a surgical tech finally came to take him back for the procedure. She asked him his name and he said, “Chris McDonald”. Without missing a beat, she replied, “Yessir. Taking you back for your hysterectomy.”

I sat with My Tribe in the waiting room, covered in prayers and cookie crumbs.  I would be lying if I told you I felt no anxiety. Unlike Chris McDonald or whoever that guy is - I am very human. Though there are few things that unsettle me, the thought of being on this earth without Dickie is devastatingly unsettling. I wouldn't last a day. We're the Dynamic Duo: Dickman & Robin. Are there times I want to kill him? Certainly. But I never want him to die...

The doc finally came out and briefed us on the surgery. All went well, except that he had to tell Dickie to stop talking so that he could concentrate on the procedure. Bottom line: the Dickman is now sporting an extra long stent in his 'Widow Maker' and has to stop eating chicken fried steak with extra gravy.

It had been a long day. A long couple of weeks. But once again, God made everything okay in the end.

As we got in the car to drive home from the hospital yesterday, we were a sorry sight.  My wonky eye was blurry and his right femoral artery was still clotting. We decided that if we worked together, we could efficiently and safely operate a 2-ton vehicle. I worked the pedals and Dickie helped me steer.  Which is pretty much a metaphor for the rest of our life together... 💗

Why am I allowed to share all of this now? Well, since he's all patched up and ready to go, the Dickman has determined that he is, once again, indestructible. And like his friend Dave, he wants to spread the message to all you other mere mortals to GO GET A STRESS TEST! (And also get your eyes dilated while you're at it.)

FOOTNOTE: After his surgery and while under the influence of morphine, Dickie asked me to send a text to update his friend, Brian. I didn't have Brian's number in my phone so Dickie rattled it off to me. I typed in Dickie's message as he dictated it to me, rolled my eyes and hit 'send'. When Brian didn't reply, I asked Dickie to check the phone number. Imagine my embarrassment when I realized I had sent this message to the wrong number...

Never Run Out Of Light!

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it."  (John 1:1-5)

Am I the only one who thinks John might've had too much wine before penning the first chapter of his book?

It's a little bit jumbledy-jivey, if you ask me...

As I pondered upon this inspired verbiage of mixed metaphors and divine ideology, I was reminded of a homeless lady I encountered a few days ago...

Sunday morning, the Dickman and I were driving home from church. We had left a bit early because one of us had eaten TWO bowls of buttered popcorn the night before and had thoroughly pissed off all the diverticula within my intestines. I could not wait to get home and mainline a bottle of Pepcid.

A few blocks from church, I spied a bedraggled homeless lady in a fluffy pink bathrobe wrestling a grocery cart down a busy street.  I started to panic when I realized the pink-robed lady was pushing her cart INTO the street, causing cars to drive erratically while dodging her as best they could.

I screamed at the Dickman to pull over and he obeyed me promptly, as always 😉.  I jumped out of the truck (that's a lie, I haven't jumped in years)... I bounced out of the truck and hurried over to the obviously disoriented lady.

“'Scuse me, ma'am... can we get you out of the road? I'm afraid you're gonna get hit by a car!”

She glared at me through cloudy eyes. “No! I'm fine! Didn't you see the rainbow? The birds? The rain is coming. The flood. You better get somewhere it's about to happen. Big storm. Get to the Ford House and you'll be safe. Hurry! You need to go.”

“Okay, we'll go. Let's all go.” I urged, as we maneuvered her and the grocery cart out of the street. “Please, let us help you. Can we take you somewhere?”

“Oh, no. The birds. A storm is coming. I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to that place over there. There's a bench. I sit on the bench. Do you want to come with me? They'll feed you there, you know. Are you hungry? They'll feed you. Go away. Leave me alone.” She was clearly becoming more agitated and I wasn't sure what to do next. As she continued her animated and nonsensical tirade, I stopped and looked at her. Really looked at her.

Her gray hair was matted, her face weathered and dirty. She was missing a few teeth. Her fingernails were filled with grime. She had mittens and extra clothes stuck down the front of her shirt. Her grocery basket overflowed with plastic sacks filled with rags.

Dickie tugged on my arm and said, “We better leave her alone, she's safe now, she's out of the street.”  I reluctantly got back in the truck.

And promptly started bawling.

As he pulled back into traffic, Dickie gave me a concerned look and said, “I know it's hard to leave her, but what can we do? What do you want me to do?  Look, there's a Dairy Queen! We'll buy her some food.  Will that make you feel better?”

“Yes”, I sniffled. It would make me feel better, because I am Texan enough to believe in the healing powers of a Hunger Buster and an M&M Blizzard. The DQ sign suddenly became imbued with all the magical healing powers of the universe.

In spite of her poor dentition, I opted for a Chicken Strip Basket because... gravy, man.  Gravy makes everything better.  We sped through the drive-through and went back in search of our lady.

She was nowhere to be found. As we cruised up and down the street, I finally saw her sorting through her grocery basket.  She was stopped near an alley, just a few hundred feet from where we had left her. Dickie pulled into the parking lot and I rolled out of the pickup.

“Mary!” I called out to her. I had no idea what her name was. I had no idea why I was calling her 'Mary', but she turned to me when I called.

The wariness returned to her eyes as I walked towards her. I slowed my pace and plastered a dazzling “trust me” smile on my face (it usually works, even with my toughest patients; but never with cops). As I drew closer, I extended the box of food towards her like a holy offering.

“What's that?” she said gruffly.

“It's food. We thought you might be hungry so we brought you some lunch. Chicken strips and fries.  And gravy!"

She asked where the food was from and I told her DQ. She said, “Oh, no! I can't eat anything from Dairy Queen. It will kill me. Eats holes in my stomach. Are you trying to kill me? I know the cook at Dairy Queen... she's an old lady and she STILL bleeds. Are you bleeding? Do you have your period?”

“Uh... no ma'am. As a matter of fact, I haven't bled in years.”

“You don't?! It can come back you know. You don't have your period anymore? How old are you?”

“I'm 62.  Barely.”

She glanced over at Dickie, leaned towards me and whispered, “But what about him??”

“He doesn't bleed either?” I offered.

“Is he nice?” she asked, suspiciously.

“Oh, yes, ma'am. He's very nice.”  I replied.

”Well, be careful. Old ladies can still have babies. You be careful with him. Take that food and go. I'm going to the Ford House to see Nixon. Do you know Nixon? I love him. We used to dance on the tables until the lights went out. Then it went dark. Darkness everywhere.  Don't let the lights go out.  Go buy you some lights. You never want to run out of light.”

“Yes ma'am, I will. I'll be sure to get more lights”, I reassured her.

And with that, I took my unwanted DQ Chicken Strip Basket home.

*********************

John and Mary. A disciple and a vagrant.  Both of them spreading messages of darkness and light.

"There was a man sent from God whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all might believe. He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light. The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world. He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him..."  (John 1:6-10)

The man sent from God was John the Baptist. Elijah revived, the front runner, the camel hair wearing, locust eating, Levitical Jew who came out of the wilderness to usher in The Light to a dark and desperate Israel.  

I picture him looking not so very different than our dirty, disheveled Mary – minus the shopping cart.

Yet, even though John was chosen and highly favored by God... he was still no match for the darkness.

But Jesus was.

Jesus entered this world and The Light came on. A Light so bright and overwhelming that it was noticed by Magi almost 1000 miles away. How could anybody not see such a Stunning, Spectacular, Omnipresent Light?

We can all see darkness.  But who are the ones who cannot see light? 

The blind.  The spiritually blind cannot see the Light of Jesus.

Even with eyes wide open and standing right in front of Him, there were those who did not see Jesus. Could not see The Light.

So, they remained in darkness.

*********************

It's hard – if not impossible - to help someone who refuses to be helped. For people like Mary, I'm not sure what the answer is. I do not believe an elderly, mentally ill homeless woman belongs on the streets. She belongs in a shelter or a mental hospital.

I could have called the police. But I've worked with the homeless population enough to know that nothing would have happened. Unless Mary was willing to accept our help, there wasn't much we can do.

And that is why I wept. 

I cried because I couldn't help Mary. Her brokenness saddened me. I was filled with frustration knowing that, if she would only let me,  I could make a difference in her life.

Can you imagine the depth of sadness that Jesus must feel? How often does He cry over the brokenness of this world? How impossibly frustrating it must be to see His perfectly sighted creation wandering blindly in the darkness.

My prayer today is that ALL of our eyes be opened to the Glory of God and that EVERY soul be filled with the Light of Jesus. 

The Light that is Eternal. Everlasting.

Because like Mary said, you never want to run out of Light...

From the Cradle to the Cross

Easter is coming and Jesus comes to mind. 

But what comes to mind when you think of Jesus? 

I think of a Savior and a Friend. A quiet and humble Teacher. A Healer in dusty sandals. A Calm in the storm. Holy and Human. Glorified. Genuine. Empathic. Majestic. Prophesied. Crucified. 

I think of Jesus from the Gospels: the Messiah in Matthew, the Suffering Servant in Mark, the Compassionate Healer in Luke, and the Son of God in John. I visualize Peter's lovable friend who gifted him with nets full of fishes and a faith that walks on water. 

I hardly ever think of Jesus in a diaper. Cranky. Colicky.  Baby Jesus.  The Jesus who belonged to Mary. Her son, her boy. Her pride and joy. 

Can you imagine how she felt as she knelt at the foot of His cross? 

I cannot. 

But as the mom of two sons, this I know for sure:  as she witnessed Jesus' crucifixion, Mary was not grieving for the Son of God.  While others looked upon the face of a suffering Savior, His mother remembered the face of her precious baby who once gazed back in total adoration; the grinning toddler who wobbled towards her with arms opened wide; the messy-haired young boy with scrapes on his knees.  Mary grieved for the son of her heart.

And she saw so much more than a Messiah nailed to a cross. 

The hands torn by nails once belonged to a little boy who patted His mother's cheeks and told her she was pretty... who held tightly to her finger as they walked along the streets of Galilee. 

Nobody knew the Jesus that Mary knew... the heart that grew beneath hers. She felt His first fluttering movements. Although His birth was ignoble, she knew before counting his fingers and toes that He was - indeed - perfectly made. 

It was Mary who tucked Jesus into bed, then stood quietly listening as He breathed His holy breath in peaceful slumber. She is the one who could tell at a glance whether Jesus was hungry or tired, angry or sad... and detect a fever by laying her hand across His forehead.  

Can't you just see her bandaging His blistered hands as Jesus learned to use the tools of His earthly father? And I imagine she stood in awe as her son began to manifest the tools of His Heavenly Father. 

Easter is coming and Jesus comes to mind.

When I reflect on the Crucifixion, my heart is overwhelmed at the sacrifice of the Savior who died for my sins. 

But my heartbreak pales in comparison with the weeping mother who held the bloodless body of the Savior in her trembling arms.  

The broken body of her sacred son...

The Word Became Flesh and Dwelt Among Us.

(John 1:14 )

STORMS AND RAINBOWS

The bells jingled softly as we entered the jewelry store. A pretty middle-aged woman came up to us with a bright smile. 

"Hi! Can I help you?”

“Well, I'm not sure...” I replied. “I have a friend who lost her baby through miscarriage and I'd like to get her a gift. But I'm not sure if I should give her something in remembrance of the baby in heaven, or in celebration of the Rainbow Baby we are praying for.”

The sales clerk's face flooded with compassion. “Speaking as a mother, I think she might prefer something to honor her grief of the child she lost. I mean, speaking as a mother... who has lost a child.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry.” My husband and I replied.

“Thank you. It's... I just... after losing my son, a friend gave me a pair of angel wings, and they mean so much to me. Come, let me show you.”

As we walked across the store, Dickie asked, “How long?”

“Pardon me?”

“How long ago did you lose your son?”

“It's been four years.”

“Wow.  Four years without your boy... my heart hurts for you.” I said.

She stopped in front of a display cabinet in the back of the store and began showing us lovely charms with angels and wings.

“We almost lost our son.” Dickie said, softly.

We both looked back at him in surprise. Her face immediately filled with concern.

“Our son... we have a son who struggled with addiction. Drugs almost took him away from us” he said.

Her hand covered her mouth and her eyes filled with tears. She looked at Dickie and said, “That's exactly what happened. My son died of a drug overdose.”

I could no longer speak, but stood in tearful silence as I felt heavenly cords gently wrapping the three of us together in a sacred connection.

My sweet husband put his hands on her shoulders, looked into her sad eyes and said, “It wasn't your fault, you know.”

She nodded.“I do know. I mean... I think I know. Most days, I believe it.”

I said, “We were good at blaming ourselves, too. But even during his recovery, our son told us that we didn't cause his addiction and we couldn't cure it. It's simply a horrible disease made deadly by the wrong choices.”

She smiled through her tears, grabbed my hand and said, “Thank you. Thank you for that – I needed to hear those words today.”

I told her we were honored she had shared her story with us.

We all took a moment to wipe away the tears, oblivious to the other customers around us.

Then she began to tell us about a special sign from God she received shortly after the death of her son. She was having a particularly difficult day and had been driving around, trying to stop crying long enough to buy groceries. Finally able to collect herself, she noticed a group of teenagers selling items just outside the store entrance. They tried to get her attention as she walked by, but she waved them away and continued inside.

On her way out of the store – against her will - something made her stop at the group she had previously passed. She walked up to one of the teens and said, “Okay. What are you raising money for? What is this 'Teen Challenge of Texas'?” The young girl explained that they were an organization dedicated to helping teens recover from drug addiction. She couldn't believe it. She shook her head in wonder and irony as she reached into her purse for a donation. The kids thanked her and she turned to go. “But ma'am!” they called to her... “You forgot your stone”. She turned back and saw the girl pointing to the end of the table where there was an array of small, smooth stones painted with various Bible verses. “Would you like to pick out a Scripture Stone?” She shook her head and said, “No, it doesn't matter. Just pick out one for me.”

The girl handed her a stone. Painted brightly across the stone was Luke 23:43.

Not recognizing the scripture, she put the stone in her pocket and drove home. Later that afternoon, she remembered it, pulled the stone from her pocket and slowly rubbed her fingers across the scripture. She picked up her Bible and turned to Luke 23:43. As she read the words of Jesus, a sense of peace and wonder settled over her troubled soul...

“Verily I say unto thee, today thou shalt be with me in paradise.”

This time, her tears were not those of sadness, but of gratitude. God, in all His wisdom, had sent her the very message her heart had been crying out for... the assurance that her son was safe with Jesus.

“What a beautiful story.” I managed to say. “God loves you so much that He wanted you to know you will see your son again.  He is in your future.”

She smiled and replied, “Yes, I truly believe that. He was a good boy.”

We hugged each other – not with the quick embrace of strangers, but with a deep connection forged by the Spirit at work within us. We knew our encounter had been no mere coincidence.

As Dickie and I we were walking out the door she called to us, “Please... will you tell your son about mine?”

We assured her that we would, and that we would never forget her, either.

A few days later, I sat down with my son and told him of our Divine Encounter. I told him but for the grace of God, I could have been the grieving mother and she could've been the one telling us how well her son is doing.

JP replied, “But Mom, you were a grieving mother.  The son you told her about did die. And I thank God that part of me died."

He continued, "Mom, I don't know why I'm still here. It's not because God loves us more. It's not because that lady didn't pray as hard for her son as you did for me. It's nothing we deserved or can make sense of.  There is a verse that says, 'It rains on the good and the evil.' (Matthew 5:45).  We don't have to understand, we just need to be grateful for today. I'm grateful that He gave me a chance to make up for the years of lost sleep and worry that I put my family through. I am lucky!”

“No, not luck. You are nothing less than a blessing.” I assured him.

He smiled back at me with that beautific smile of his... the one that has melted me since the day I first held him in my arms. It tugged at my heartstrings, and made me sorrowful for all the Mamas missing the light of their child's radiant smile.

I seldom think of those dark days.  Sleepless nights when I begged God to heal my son... to change his heart... to rescue him and keep him from harming others. As the years passed and the storm raged on, I found myself praying words no parent should ever pray. “If he can't overcome this, God... please, take my boy safely home with you.”

Even during the times when I almost lost him, God sustained me with hope that I would see my son again in heaven.

As my man-child patted me on the back and walked away, I was swamped with the fullness of God's redemption; overwhelmed by His perfect grace.

I had gone into a jewelry shop searching for a special gift to give a Rainbow Mom - a precious friend who had been given another chance to create a miracle with God. 

I left the shop in humble realization that out of the stormy darkness of desperate days, the God of Miracles had given me another chance, as well.  

It's never too late to be a Rainbow Mom...

http://teenchallengetx.org/

I WISH YOU A HALLMARK CHRISTMAS...

I've gone and done it, y'all. After two years of burying mamas and cancer scares and trying to fix people only God can fix... I've morphed into a festively addle-brained Alice and fallen headfirst into the Hallmark Christmas Channel hole. Landed smack dab in Cheezy Holiday Wonderland... the place where starry-eyed romantics and quixotic old women go to binge-watch movies about finding the perfect Christmas tree AND true love. 

I'm not even ashamed. At least not anymore. 

I fell into the hole innocently enough. One night, after a particularly depressing news day, I stumbled upon a Hallmark Christmas movie while channel surfing. Within two hours, I was hooked. As my addiction grew and grew, I found new and inventive ways to watch in secret, not willing to fess up and face the ridicule of the Dickman. 

But like any other addict... I overindulged and got caught. I was forced out of the Sappy Christmas Movie Closet. 

It happened last Saturday, while Dickie was supposed to be running errands. There I was - spellbound and overwrought with worry that Jacqueline wouldn't reunite with her estranged Dad before Christmas.  I didn't even notice when the Dickman walked into the room.

“Wanna go get some breakfast?” He asked cheerily. I wiped my snotty nose on my robe and said, “I... I... can't. It's not a good time.” He glanced at the TV then whipped his head back around to me. “Wait a minute... is this what I think it is? Are you really watching one of those Hallmark girly shows? Who are you and what have you done with my wife?” 

I didn't even know how to answer. I wasn't sure what was happening to his wife. 

The Dickman sat down to wait for me with a smirky grin on his face.  Five minutes later, Hallmark had him by the Christmas balls. 

“So, when is this lady gonna find out that her Dad really is a good guy?? I mean, he's helping her save Christmas for the WHOLE town - can't she see that?!” He exclaimed. 

By the end of the show he was trying to hide his sniffling. As I wiped my own leaky eyes I  teased in a singsong voice, “Look who's crying...” He belligerently blubbered. “I'm not crying – you're crying!”

What in the wide wide world of winter wonderlands are you doing to us, Hallmark? What is this magical holiday spell that you cast?? 

I've thought about it a lot, trying to figure out the special sauce that goes into the formula. The formula, itself, is nothing but predictable... Christmas cookie cutter plot lines and recurrent themes that go something like this: 

Big city career girl (usually a lawyer) named Holly or Angel returns to her small town before Christmas just in time to save the family farm or bakery or Christmas-themed business and inevitably reunites with her high school boyfriend named Nick or Chris who is now the town handy man or hunky widower or secretly... a prince. And before you know it they find themselves falling in love over a cup of hot chocolate and a plate of gingerbread cookies and they run outside and have a snowball fight and end up falling together in the snow and they almost kiss but decide to make snow angels instead and somehow his hair never gets wet and her mascara never runs and then a protagonist shows up in the form of a beautiful but shallow ex-girlfriend or a skinny jean-wearing metrosexual ex-boyfriend and the budding romance is nipped until they miraculously find each other across the room at the local Christmas pageant and realize that OH MY GOSH it was all a big misunderstanding and she truly deeply loves him! He's always been The One! They're SOUL MATES! And look, WHAT A SURPRISE! There's mistletoe hanging RIGHT OVER THEIR PERFECT HEADS. So they seal it with a chaste (no tongue) but loving kiss and They All Live Happily Ever After.      

Lather. Rinse. Repeat. 

It doesn't even matter that only six or seven actors are passed around amongst a bajillion Hallmark Christmas movies... it doesn't feel incestuous-y at all. The only thing that matters is that within two short hours, everything gets tied up with a big red bow and Love Always Wins. Is it real life? No, Virginia, it is not. In real life, there is no way to fit five winter coats into one little suitcase. In real life, there are no perfect Christmas dinners because our family is more like Cousin Eddie with the metal plate in his head. In real life, when bows come untied, sometimes they stay that way. 

So don't mind me while I check my logic under the mistletoe, bury my head in the fake snow and escape this chaotic and troubled world for a few hours. The sweetness overload is totally worth the rise in my insulin levels. And all I want to do after watching one of these movies is dress up in red and eat fruitcake and go caroling. Or open a Christmas tree farm and drive a sleigh pulled by a horse named Bobtail.  With bells that ring.

It's pure magic, y'all. 

Who couldn't use a little Christmas Magic... complete with sappy background music, bottomless cups of frothy hot chocolate and a love that rescues you in the nick of time?

THE MASTER GARDENER

God plopped Adam down in the middle of a bountiful Garden with plans of turning him into a gardener. “This is gonna be easy-peasy, Adam” God said. “All you have to do is take care of these two trees. One will give you life, the other will bring a curse.”

You know how the story goes.  Like a coupla knuckleheads, Adam and Eve chose the cursed tree. Why? Because it wasn't enough for them to be “like” God... they wanted to actually BE God. 

A boneheaded move that got their shamefully naked butts kicked out of The Garden. 

As time passed, the original sin multiplied. People grew more and more evil, carelessly squandering chances of mercy and redemption. God felt like he was watching ALL the Shakespearean plays on an endless loop.

Finally fed up, God realized that only His Son could save us. And by us, I mean you and me. Humanity. All the little children of the world.

So God gave us Baby Jesus, all wrapped up in swaddles. He didn't send Him here to change the world, though the world changed because He was here.  God sent Jesus to change hearts and cultivate souls. And He was really good at it. So much so that He became a threat to the status quo.

Knowing his days were literally numbered, Jesus went to a Garden to pray. But He got kicked out of that Garden and was taken away to be jailed, tortured and nailed to a cross.

Then, as Bob Goff says, “Darkness fell. His friends scattered. All hope seemed lost. But heaven just started counting to three." And when Mary Magdalene went to anoint His lifeless body, she found an empty tomb. She was so shocked that she asked the tall stranger standing next to her if He had seen anything. She didn't recognize Him as Jesus.  She thought He was... wait for it... the Gardener. (John 20:1-18) 

God is just cool like that.

He placed a Tree of Life in the original Garden with a really crappy gardener.  Humanity Fallen.

He allowed Jesus to be taken from a Garden and crucified on a cross-shaped tree. Humanity Forgiven. 

Can you guess what's gonna happen next?  You don't have to guess.  God tells us.

Heaven will come down and there will be a New Garden, complete with it's very own Tree of Life. Humanity Fortified.  

For Eternity. 

Then the angel showed me the river of the Water of Life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb down the middle of the great street of the city. On each side of the river stood the Tree of Life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month. AND THE LEAVES OF THE TREE ARE FOR THE HEALING OF THE NATIONS. (Revelation 22:1-2) 

There it is – in the very last chapter of Revelation. After scaring the actual hell out of us, John ends Revelation with an awesome description of the New Heaven and Earth and... WOW! Not only do we get streets paved with gold, we get a Fruit of the Month Tree! With magic leaves!! 

God's Garden comes full circle. Perfection Glorified. Eden is restored and the Tree of Life is replanted  smack dab in the middle of a heavenly paradise of perpetuity. 

Now, I don't pretend to understand everything in Revelation, but I know one thing for sure: this earth will pass away. All the war and brokenness, disease and dying? Gone! One-ply toilet paper and clingy plastic wrap? Gone! Pesky mosquitoes and flatulence? Gone and gone! Every single bit of ugliness will be gone. God will vanquish sin and darkness from this world and usher a cleansing, purifying, sentient light into the Garden. 

The light of heaven is our future... and we should plan for it like there's no tomorrow. Instead of  fighting over political elections, we should claim the victory He has already promised. Instead of worrying about sagging skin and bemoaning a neck that has just given up, we should get excited about the perfect body that is to come! And when you pray?  Go right on ahead and boldly thank God for answering that prayer. Because where we are going, the battle is over.  Not only has it been fought, it's been WON. Claim your dang victory! Slap that crown on your head and plant your feet on the finish line! 

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing. (2 Timothy 4:7-8) 

"All who have longed for His appearing..." There's our hope. Prepare for it. Reach for it. Long for it. Don't stay stuck in the past or get lost in the present - our hope is for the future. Stop jousting with windmills and start claiming the promises that await you. Stop punching paper tigers and turning clay-footed mortals into heroes. Direct your energy towards the hope that is promised for the healing of our nations. 

The Bible begins with a Tree of Life placed in a perfect garden, tended by imperfect gardeners. It ends with a Tree of Life in an even more perfect garden, and this time it is tended by the Master Gardener, one who is able to sustain a tree full of Healing Leaves. 

I see no reason to wait for that promise, do you?  Lord knows our nation could use a bit of healing.  WE can be the Healing Leaves – He will give us that power if we only ask and believe...

ON EARTH AS IT IS IN HEAVEN.