Name That Tune!

Our grandson Andrew Singer and Kelsey Youngquist at the piano.

Can you name the tune?

Give it a try.

God of our fathers, Whose almighty hand
Leads forth in beauty all the starry band
Of shining worlds in splendor through the skies
Our grateful songs before Thy throne arise.

Thy love divine hath led us in the past,
In this free land by Thee our lot is cast,
Be Thou our Ruler, Guardian, Guide and Stay,
Thy Word our law, Thy paths our chosen way.

From war’s alarms, from deadly pestilence,
Be Thy strong arm our ever sure defense;
Thy true religion in our hearts increase,
Thy bounteous goodness nourish us in peace.


If you need help naming the tune, I think you might be shocked, maybe even shaken when you learn its title...
  
National Hymn


You read that right. The United States of America has an official National Hymn. And we have since our nation celebrated its centennial.
The song is part of our history.

It's a piece of our national culture.

So I have to ask why we have done such a poor job of passing precious pieces of our culture on to our children and grandchildren? 

I've been thinking a lot about this, especially this week in light of all that's going on--


another tragic school shooting, this one in Ohio...


a candidate for office belittled, almost as if he were a dimwitted caveman simply because he stands on the Word of
 God and has the audacity to bring his belief into public discourse.




These things break my heart.



Pete passing the ECHO culture along to granddaughters Cassie and Emily and friend Sydney







Somewhere along our way, the culture we were given to pass along was pulled from our hands, hidden behind glass in some obscure history museum, doors to be unlocked only when there’s a tragedy like the recent school shooting in Ohio.
I'm not trying to cast a net of blame, or come up with overly-simplified solutions.


I'm just wondering can anyone


Name the reasons why?


I can find four reasons we’ve allowed this to happen. 

1) Culture redefined. We blindly gave in when we were told things had 
   changed; we had no right to pass along the culture that had once been ours. 
2) Priorities redefined. Material things, personal enjoyment and entertainment became more important than people and values.

3)   Place in culture redefined. We went from influencing culture to isolating ourselves from it.




4) Beliefs redefined. Even we stopped believing the truth about who we are as a people.

I wonder what would happen if we took a bold step out of our isolation. 

What if we pass on the history that was passed on to us?

What if we change our priorities and take time to honestly share even the simple things, like the feelings that swell our hearts when we see an American flag pass by?

In short, what if we do what we’ve been told we can’t do—pass our culture on to our children and grandchildren.

Those who come after us need to hear our stories told in a loving and compelling way. They need to know Americans have much more to be proud of than ashamed of as a nation.  Sure there have been bad times along the way. Life here is never going to be perfect. But we've learned, and we can grow without dismantling our foundation.

          

Our culture, our country, our faith does not belong to any judge or legislator. It doesn’t even belong to a president. It’s ours—ours to pass on.

Our grandson Jeremiah and Grandpa



 




There's one more verse to our National Hymn. As you read or sing the fourth verse, let it be a prayer for our nation.

Refresh Thy people on their toilsome way,
Lead us from night to never ending day;
Fill all our lives with love and grace divine,
And glory, laud, and praise be ever Thine.

"These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts.
Impress them on your children.
Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.
Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads.
Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates."

Deuteronomy 6:6-9



My Valentine



              LOVE

I’m not an expert on love.

For me love has been easy. 

God gave me an incredible husband.

I’ve never had to doubt Pete's love or faithfulness.

His touch has always been a touch of love.

His patience with me knows few limits.

More than forty years after we spoke our vows, he still writes the most magnificent love notes. Unlike so many of our friends, both of us have remained healthy and able to care for ourselves and each other.

We are blessed.

I’m not saying Pete and I haven’t had our share of problems. We have. He’s disappointed me. I’ve disappointed him. But, by God’s grace and the love he has given us, we made it beyond each problem.  

I know this isn’t everyone’s story. That’s why I say I’m not an expert on love.

I’ve prayed with—even sheltered—friends who have felt the physical and verbal touch of an angry spouse—a touch that left bruises and the indescribable pain of cruel and depreciating words. These precious friends don’t know what it’s like to find a love letter tucked inside their suitcase when they travel without their husband, or to fold back the covers at the end of a day to find a wrapped piece of their favorite chocolate hidden under their pillow.

Yes, love has been easy for me. Even easier than it has been for our children.



Tia with three of her four children Jeremiah, Nathan, Sarah



I think of our daughter. Tia knows what love is all about. While still in his thirties, Tia’s husband Ryan was diagnosed with Pick’s, a terminal disease that attacks the frontal lobe of the brain, stealing away inhibitions, sense of right and wrong, memory, speech, ability to care for self. When he no longer knew her or their children, when he could no longer speak or care for himself, Tia’s love for Ryan shined. She still looked at him, touched him, spoke to him with uninterrupted love. Tia stayed by Ryan’s side to the end. Loyal to her vows.  



Chris and Pete celebrating their birthdays--only 1 week apart



I see the love between our son and daughter-in-law as our son fights stage-three colon cancer. With no complaint, Chris works a full time job and takes on the roles of both Peter and herself, running the children to their clubs and lessons, helping with their homework, solving problems, taking care Pete’s needs. In stressful and threatening times, we see the love in Chris’ eyes for our son. And we see the love in our son’s for her.

Pete (in orange) with his sisters, their husbands, his brother
 Richard (back row right), and Richard's wife
Terry (front row left). 

Pete and I marvel at the love his brother Richard has for his wife Terry. About fifteen years ago Terry suffered a debilitating stroke, one that took most of her speech, her ability to feed herself, walk, even swallow properly. Totally in love, Dick remains Terry’s faithful caregiver. They communicate. They travel together. They love each other beyond words.

On Sunday I thought about Tia and Ryan, Peter and Chris, Dick and Terry when our pastor talked about real—Agape—love. This is some of what he said:

Real love delights in giving—even when it is not deserved.

Real love gets joy from pouring into others lives.

Real love is not hindered by our worries, weariness, or wants.

Real love does not act according to category, culture, corruption. But it does act according to another’s cry.

Even though Pete and I have not yet been called to make the sacrifices some other couples have been called to make, God has poured his real love into us. And I am grateful!

Maybe you aren’t yet married. Maybe your marriage ended in the pain of divorce. Maybe the one love of your life has passed away and you long for the day you will be together once again.

Remember, someone loves you with real love.

He will never leave you.

And he will never disappoint you.

His name is Jesus.

Today I have a Valentine just for you.

I encourage you to read every word. If you know the tune sing. Let the words sink into your soul.

Aren’t they wonderful?

This is the love that is ours.

Forever.

The love of God is greater far

Than tongue or pen can ever tell

It goes beyond the highest star

And reaches to the lowest hell.

Could we with ink the ocean fill

And were the skies of parchment made

Were every stalk on earth a quill

And every man a scribe by trade

To write the love of God above

Would drain the oceans dry

Nor could the scroll contain the whole

Though stretched from sky to sky.

Oh love of God, how rich and pure

How measureless and strong

It shall forever more endure

The saints’ and angels’ song.

By Frederick M. Lehman

Based on Haddamut, an old Jewish poem.

Happy Valentine's Day!

C R E A T I v E

Cravings

If you’ve been to Disney’s Contemporary Resort, you probably recognize the mosaic pictured above. I could spend hours, enjoying its charm…picking out its imperfections.

I’m not being critical.

Really.

When I worked in the travel industry I went on a familiarization trip to Disneyworld with a group of travel counselors. While touring the Contemporary Resort, our guide paused in front of the mosaic to share its history. I’ll never forget what she told us. When Walt Disney commissioned the piece he did so with instruction that it contain imperfections. Why would he go to such extremes to insure that a flawed piece of art take up almost an entire wall of his gateway resort?

Walt Disney knew the truth and he wanted to share it. Man may create amazing works of beauty, but not one is perfect. God alone is the perfect creator.

What a message from one of the most creative minds of the last hundred years.

Our granddaughter Cassie--as you can see--a very creative gal!

The craving to create isn’t reserved for the teenagers and Walt Disney’s of this world. It’s something that lives inside every human soul. I believe this is true because we are made in the image of the greatest creator of all.

 Did you know that the first mention of someone being filled with the Holy Spirit is found in Exodus 31:3-8? Must have been Moses, you say, or some High Priest.

No.

This first goes to Bezalel, a craftsman, chosen by God to design the Meeting Tent, including the arc and oil and drapes. The Holy Spirit is creative, bringing abundant life and amazing beauty into our lives.

My husband loves this truth because he is a craftsman. Place a piece of wood in his hands and he sees more beauty than any ten people put together. Though people don’t usually see this when they first meet him (Pete’s only piece of jewelry is his wedding ring and he doesn’t wear eccentric clothes or allow his hair to grow long enough for a pony tail), Pete has one of the most creative minds of anyone I know.

I’ll never forget the first time he attended a writer’s conference with me. Here he was in his button down collar shirt, work-worn hands, and cowboy boots sitting at a dinner table with authors, a publisher, and agent.

Anxious to get the conversation moving, the agent pointed her salad fork at Pete. “So what do you write?”

Pete’s shoulders lifted with pride. I could feel the intensity of his wit. “Love letters.” He reached for my hand. “I write love letters to my wife.”

The amazing love letters my husband writes, he writes because he is created in the image of the author of the greatest love letter ever written.

Think about it. While the fruit of our labors can never climb to the level of God’s perfection, craftsmen build because they are created in the image of the One who, out of nothing, built the earth and universe and all that is.

Doctors and nurses heal because they are created in the image of the greatest healer of all.

Judges and attorneys seek justice and mercy because they are created in the image of God who is both just and merciful. 

Artists create and writers write because they are created in the image of the CREATOR.

Fiction writers are a perfect example. They create their own worlds and their own people. Those who read their stories have no idea the amount of research behind a believable manuscript. The setting is explored. What is the weather like? What animals and plants are common? What foods are popular?

When it comes to creating characters, most authors use some type of personality guide. Every time a character responds or reacts to conflict, it must be consistent with their personality.

This may not make sense to those who do not write fiction. But it’s true. The other day author Janalyn Voigt posted this question for her writer friends on Facebook: “Do your characters ever refuse to cooperate?”

The answers were amazing.

“All the time—just like my children, they seem to have ideas of their own and have no to me.”desire to listen  “When that happens I spend hours inside their minds, just trying to figure out why. Yes, raising characters is very much like raising children.”

 “…the plan was for Pastor Jack to go on leave. He resigned instead.”

“They have minds and plans of their own.”

“They talk back.”

“A character of mine who was supposed to lead a battle had a nervous breakdown and disappeared.”

 “Yes, but then I kill them.”

“A non-writer would look at this and think we’re all schizophrenic.”

True, but when God reads these statements, he knows exactly what we’re talking about. He created our world and every creature and character in it. What an imagination He must have.

He knows what it’s like when we have ideas of our own and have no desire to listen to him.

He understands what it’s like to have marvelous plans for our lives, only to see us resign from life and the work he has called us to do.

He spends hours inside the battlefield of our minds, feeding us truth, urging us on, drawing us back to him.

But we have minds and plans of our own.

We even talk back.

When he calls us to fight, maybe even to lead a battle, there are times we don’t trust him— times we don’t put on the armor he’s provided. Instead, we have a meltdown and disappear from the battle.

 And for our lack of cooperation, God could certainly kill us.

After all he is GOD.

And he is just.

But he’s also merciful. So merciful that he stepped into the confines of the world he created. At just the right time, he died on the cross and paid the price for our sin.

Maybe that’s why deep inside every story, every heart, is a knowing that, just like the Disney mosaic, we are flawed. We have a craving that must be fed. A craving that is not easily satisfied.

Could it be that our our purpose--our desires--our needs for satisfaction and peace are satisfied not by the things we do, but in the PERFECT SAVIOR, the One who made us who we are?

What are your thoughts?  

By the way, did you find any flaws in the mosaic?

So What Are You Wearing?

What are you wearing? How many times have I asked that question?

I might be going out to dinner with friends, attending a special celebration, retreat, or meeting. If I’m not clear about what the appropriate attire for the occasion is, I check with a friend. “What are you wearing?” I say.

What we wear is important to us.

It is also important to God.

I was reminded of that this morning when my husband Pete left for work. As usual, he was dressed casually in jeans and a shirt. Sticking out from under his arm was a folder of his weekend paperwork, and in one hand lunch--a bowl of wild rice soup--in the other, a cup of coffee. With a goodbye kiss, he walked out the door. But before I could lock up, Pete was back. “Did you notice what I forgot?” A silly smile stretched his face.

I looked him over. Everything was fine.

But then my eyes reached the floor. Pete was heading off to work in stocking feet.

Shoeless. That’s not good. It’s not safe, especially when you consider that Pete is Physical Plant supervisor at a Global Farm that focuses on hunger solutions for the ten-forty window. It doesn’t take much to imagine all the muck there is to step on in an environment where the emphasis is on everything natural, nothing chemical.

As soon as we stopped laughing, my mind went back to the weekend behind us when Pete led an evangelism seminar at our church, encouraging others to share the Good News. A word picture from Ephesians 6 placed itself on an easel square in the center of my mind. “On your feet wear the Good News of peace to help you stand strong” (Ephesians 6:15 NCV).

I was reminded that I must stand strong. Daily, I engage in spiritual battles. And, just as surely as Pete left for work without proper attire, I often go into battle without the attire that has been given to me.

Just today, not long after Pete left for work, the enemy shoved his ugly head into my world when I learned that someone I love deeply has been hurt beyond words, her trust broken, taken advantage of, and in the aftermath, her children at risk of being casualties of war.

And then a neighbor child we’ve been praying for and love told me she has to move because her dad won’t be living with them anymore and her mom can’t afford to live in our condo community. We’d been working with this preious little girl and her sister, giving them Bibles for Christmas, inviting them to Bible School and church. And now she is moving because of her father’s sin. “Not fair,” my heart screamed for the second time in one day, “why do the children have to suffer?”

And I understand again why God hates sin.

Another call. A close friend was unable to get home to her mother before she passed away. All she has are the stories of others who made it there in time to say goodbye.

So many friends and family members are struggling with illnesses and the spiritual attacks that accompany them.

The battlefield is fierce. It’s cruel. That’s why we need to dress appropriately. The Armor of God  (Ephesians 6:14-18) is an old lesson, one I learned as a child, but it’s a lesson I need to be reminded of often.

So as I step onto the battlefield, I ask myself:

Is my belt of truth firmly in place?                                                               

That wonderfully beneficial belt of truth has been given to me for a greater reason than to accessorize the rest of my outfit. The belt of truth holds my breastplate of righteousness and other war necessities firmly in place.

Are my feet properly covered with the Good News of Peace?                     

God knows the mountains I’ll have to climb today, the rocks that will be thrown into my path, the filth of this fallen world I might have to march through. And He has provided me with perfect footwear.

Am I safe behind my shield of faith?

I’m reminded that when Roman soldiers were on their knees, the shield covered them completely. My shield of faith stops the fiery darts fired by the evil one, and when I’m on my knees before God I am covered by the shield of faith He has given me.  

Is my helmet of salvation strapped firmly on my head?

I need the helmet to protect my mind, where battles are won or lost.

Finally, have I taken up the sword of the Spirit which is the word of God?

What a powerful weapon of offense! God’s word is alive and working and sharper than a double-edged sword (Hebrews 4:12 NCV).

So, what are you wearing today?

The Sound of Wings

The sound of wings. Is there a more gentle sound? Is there one more powerful?

The other day I strolled by a flock of birds who had gathered on a patch of grass in the middle of our grocery parking lot. As soon as I stopped to watch, they flapped their wings and, in almost total silence, defied the law of gravity. If I hadn’t taken a break from the hustle of my day, if I hadn’t pushed aside the urgency of rushing home with my ice cream and fresh meat and allowed that moment of quiet, I would have never heard the soft sweet sound of wings.

I believe our lives are filled with wing sounds. Some call them the voice of inspiration. Some, the voice of God. The voice is there. In gentleness, wing sounds have the power to lift us above the gravity of ordinary, to free us from shackles of past failure and present fear, and release us to soar like eagles.

We all need to find that quiet place where we can clearly hear our wing sounds. I have a couple locations. One is the worn easy chair in our office. Almost every morning I sit there with my Bible and journal and ask God to speak to me through His Word. He does. Faithfully.

My other quiet place is the shower. There’s just something about being closed away from the rest of the world surrounded by the sound of rushing water. Don’t laugh. Most of my writer friends say the same thing. Great inspiration comes in the shower.

But, if you’re a writer, shower inspirations pose a problem. Paper doesn’t hold up under water, and there's just no way to chronicle your thoughts. Instead, you must cling to your inspiration until well after you turn off the water.

Unfortunately, as one ages wing sounds become more difficult to cling to. They take flight far too swiftly. Years ago, in the day of unlocked doors and meter readers, a writer friend and mentor of mine received a brilliant inspiration while taking her shower. She was home alone and, not wanting to lose her thought, she jumped out of the shower and ran naked down the steps toward her basement office. But before she could reach her destination, she heard a knock on the door, followed by the announcement, “Meter Reader.” There she was, a sweet little lady with short gray hair, totally naked, with the meter reader approaching. There was no time to escape. As she heard his boots on the stairs, she grabbed the only available item to hide behind—her son’s old football helmet—and ducked under her laundry folding table. As soon as her bare bottom touched the cold cement floor, she bent her knees to her chin and held the helmet in front of her. But it was no use. The table was in the meter reader’s direct eye-shot as he made his way down the stairs. My mentor friend may have needed something louder than a wing sound to explain her situation.

In the months to come, I’d like to share some of my wing sounds. What an honor it would be if you would share some of yours. As we take time to listen, we will defy the gravity of the ordinary. We will have opportunity to be unshackled from past failure and present fear. We may even soar like eagles.

And maybe, just maybe, God will use the wing sounds He’s given us to touch the lives of others. After all, is there any softer sound, any sound more powerful than the sound of wings?