Tag Archives: God’s love

I Choose You

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baby-hand

Eleven years ago today my youngest brother, Nathaniel, was born.

Excited isn’t the word. I think I began counting down the days until his birth about two months before his due date. When my mom woke me at 3:00 a.m. to tell me she was in labor, I couldn’t contain my joy.

If excited couldn’t describe the anticipation preceding Nathaniel’s entrance into my world, I don’t know the word that could describe what I felt when I learned a few hours later that he had been stillborn. Heartbroken doesn’t even come close.

Several weeks after, a mentally challenged lady in our church said it just right: “I miss your little brother,” she commented out of nowhere. “I would have liked to have gotten to know him.” I gave her a hug and then walked outside and bawled. I would have liked to have known him, too. Continue reading →

If Someone Gave Me a Very Great Treasure…

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treasure-chest

I once found a treasure map. It was at the Indiana Sand Dunes where our family was enjoying a family day. I must have only been about five, but I vividly remember watching that map roll across our path.

We have the discovery on an old home video. It turns out that when watching this episode through a more mature paradigm, the map was more of a creative forgery than it was a discovery.

My dad actually drew the treasure map, having buried the treasure (assorted trinkets he knew his daughters would love) before our family outing. He crumpled and dirtied the map, carefully tattering the edges, to add the appearance of authenticity.

It worked alright. The old VHS includes the high-pitched squeals of three treasure-hungry sisters thrilled over the discovery of this ancient map. Continue reading →

If You Were in a Christmas Carol…

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If I could insert myself into one of our Christmas hymns, I think I’d see myself as one of the shepherds on the hillside or the three kings of orient. Maybe I could pretend I was that mother mild. With a greater stretch of imagination, I could join the choir of herald angels.

But without even needing to imagine myself in the scene, I actually am mentioned in one of the carols. Not by name, of course (my name is not Gloria), but by affiliation. It’s in the third stanza of “Joy to the World,” the line that reads “far as the curse is found.”

That’s me. The curse reaches me.

The curse set off by sin enshrouds our world and touches every aspect of life as we know it. Merry as Christmas is, even holidays are beset by pain from the curse. What family circle has not been touched by divorce, cancer, or separation—pain of any sort is a direct or indirect result of the curse.

But it gets worse. The curse reaches deep in my own heart. And I’m not imagining here. Reality is, I’m not an angel—or even eligible to apply as an angelic candidate. Yes, the curse reaches me.

But that’s exactly why this line of “Joy to the World” is my favorite, because it reminds me that Jesus “comes to make His blessings flow far as the curse is found.” If the curse reaches me, so do the blessings!

I, of all people, have great reason to rejoice that the Lord is come!

“Where sin abounded, grace did much more abound” (Romans 5:20)!

Freedom from a Mechanized Christmas

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One of my most-anticipated Christmas traditions is a personal ritual. Our family is often at my grandma’s house on Christmas morning, and she has a large barn with a great hayloft. Each year, I try to find a moment when the coast is clear and slip out to the barn for a few minutes of quiet reflection.

If you’re not familiar with barns, let me tell you, there’s not much in a pile of hay to inspire awe. Really. It smells good (which is nice), but I’ve never been one to worship hay. But on Christmas morning, when you settle into a pile of loose hay, rest your back against hay bale, and read the Christmas story with the light coming in from the crow’s nest above…it evokes worship. It brings a fresh realization that God was born into…of all things, hay. He chose to enter our world through a stable. It’s humbling. It’s a stirring reminder of the depth of Jesus’ love.

I wish every Christian I know could experience Christmas morning in the barn.

It’s easy—more accurately  the norm—for the month of December to turn into something like a grueling marathon of activity and exhaustion. December is rich in activates and overflowing in opportunities for outreach. Parties, ministry, shopping, family…it’s all wonderful. But it makes for a challenging schedule. And if we’re not careful, we can move through it like machines—going through the motions of the Christmas schedule. Continue reading →

Nothing, Nothing at All

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Note: This blog is part of a Thanksgiving series of blogs highlighting attributes of God for which I am thankful.

What can make God stop loving me? What can separate me from His love? What can dim or cloud the intensity of His love for me?

Please read the answer very slowly: nothing, nothing at all.

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?…Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us. For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.—Romans 8:35, 37-39

I’m thankful for God’s love.

Sometimes I forget about it.

Sometimes I live as if I must earn it. Continue reading →

God Doesn’t Have to Be Kind to Me

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Note: This blog is part of a Thanksgiving series of blogs highlighting attributes of God for which I am thankful.

Have you ever been kind to someone because you had to be? Or because it was to your best advantage to be?

I have.

But God’s kindness to me (and there is a lot of it!) is prompted by a higher, purer motive—love.

That’s right. God is kind to me because He loves me. It’s called lovingkindness.

Perhaps you have heard that the God of the Old Testament is harsh. Vindictive. Angry.  Continue reading →

Ahhh…

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Note: This blog is part of a Thanksgiving series of blogs highlighting attributes of God for which I am thankful.

This past summer, I had the best experience ever at Subway…and it had nothing to do with Subway.

I was with my family for a few days, and I had the opportunity to have a heart-to-heart talk with my dad. I came to the table with an agenda—literally. I had three questions I had been waiting to talk with him about until we had one-on-one time to ourselves.

Two of the questions were trite. But one was big to me. In fact, it wasn’t even a question at all, it was an issue.

I always cherish time spent with my dad, but this time, I needed it. I shared with him something that had been weighing my spirit, and I listened as he gave me his take on it. We talked for a long time. Subway employees began cleaning the counters and checking the doors to be sure they were locked (subtle signs that they wanted us to leave). We relocated to the car and continued talking. We even turned the heater on once we had sat in the car long enough to get chilled. Continue reading →

Fresh Daily

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Note: This blog is part of a Thanksgiving series of blogs highlighting attributes of God for which I am thankful.

Ring. The phone announced a Saturday morning caller.

“Hello, Bass residence, this is Michele speaking,” my sister answered the phone.

“Hi, Marcy.”

“Right now?”

“Ohhhh.”

“Yes, we will pray immediately. Talk to you later. Bye.”

We all waited to hear Michele relate the other end of her phone conversation with Marcy. “Marcy’s aunt and two cousins are visiting from out of state. Her aunt is not saved, so Marcy’s dad is witnessing to her right now. They would like us to pray that there won’t be any distractions and that her aunt will be saved.” Continue reading →

When Impossible Isn’t

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When I was growing up, we actually had “the Joneses” living next door. Only, it was just Mrs. Jones—a sweet, elderly widow who had cookies and Kool-Aid for the neighbor kids.

I didn’t know anything about the cookies and Kool-Aid, however, until the day that my sister Michele and I were riding our bikes near her house and ran over her yard decoration. It was a wooden cutout of a redbird on the top of a wooden stake painted red. One of us (I won’t say who because it might make Michele feel bad) ran over the cardinal, and the stake broke.

We quickly hopped off our bikes and examined the broken decoration, hoping there was some easy fix. Nope, the wood was unmistakably broken, and the splintered top half was too short to stick back in the ground. We propped it up against the bush and sadly rode home to tell Mom. Continue reading →

What I Learned about My Mom from a Potbellied Pig

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“Firsts” have a way of embedding themselves into your memory. First impressions, first experiences, first meetings. And the more startling the “first” is, the more effectively it wedges itself into your mind.

I was nine years old when I saw my first potbellied pig. It was at a petting zoo in Pennsylvania where our family was visiting some friends. Frankly, I thought the pig with his belly that barely cleared the ground was cute.

But in the same moment that I saw the pig, my dad’s friend spoke up with another first—an expression that I had never heard before: “Only a mother could love that face.” Continue reading →