When the Wind Blows

A storm came through yesterday that left its mark on my property. My bird feeders were emptied of their contents and scattered hither, tither and yon. My 7 foot sunflowers are still 7 foot but their happy little faces are at 9:00 instead of 12:00. My beautiful gladiolas are a little worse for wear as well. They have bowed at the wind and because their stems are not supple, they have snapped. In fact, most of the garden is listing in one direction. The storm popped up out of nowhere and the weather radio missed warning us that it was coming. By the time is passed over us it generated a tornado warning in the next two counties. Not that I would have done anything to shore up the glads or the sunflowers had I known. I like my garden but not enough to stand in the storm to shield it from God's wind.

However, I do like storms. I know, I am weird. I also like earthquakes. Please don't get me wrong, I don't like that people get hurt or lose their property. Not at all. What I like about storms and quakes is that there is no doubt in your mind during one of these events that you are insignificant. You know that you are 100% dependent on the mercies of God when the earth is shaking or the wind threatens to blow your house down. There is nothing you can do to stop it. I wish I could duplicate that feeling in my day to day life occurrences.

When the Living God reveals Himself neutrality isn't an option. If you do a study of the Word and look at people who encountered our Lord, none of them remained the same. Either their hearts were hardened or they were compelled to worship. For some, the encounter turns their life upside down and like my yard, the effects are readily visible. For others the change comes at a slower pace, but it comes.

Yes, I wish I could experience each moment knowing I am 100% dependent on God's mercy and provision. I give intellectual assent to it but the little worries of life annoy me and make me think I can and should do something to control them. Every now and again God has to remind me that He is God and I am not. He is Lord of the little things too. Not an atom moves that God doesn't bid it.

1 Corinthians 1:27-29
27 but God has chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to shame the things which are strong,
28 and the base things of the world and the despised, God has chosen, the things that are not, that He might nullify the things that are,
29 that no man should boast before God.
(NAS)

Spiritual Aphasia aka Senseless Theology

I was recently asked why I read theology and follow theological debates. "It's all just words and opinions." Words. Words on a paper, words on a blog. Words that travel invisibly through our airwaves and our minds. What would our inner monologue consist of without words? Harsh words, gentle words, untrue words, and solid you-can-die-behind them words. They have secret lives in the depths of our souls. They overflow in torrents of grief and joy. They seep out of our character flaws, wearing down the weak convictions that hold them back until they contaminate all those around us. All of us are stained within and without by the raw sewage of unkind words. Our souls are in jeopardy for want of The Word. Jesus Christ. The Gospel. The Good News. Words matter. Doctrine matters. Theology Matters. What you win them with is what you win them to. I study theology because I was lost too long in a world that scrambles truth with its own ideas and preferences. I was fed a diet of tosse

Super Church a song for the Emergent-sy

In the early 70s I was in a youth choir at my church. Our youth pastor was a musician and his way of connecting with us as a group was through the choir and music. Somehow there was an affiliation between him and The Continental Singers, New Hope and Jeremiah People. He was worked with Moishe Rosen of Jews for Jesus too, I think. Are any of these names familiar to you? Though I remember the church fondly I was a profoundly lost and troubled young woman during my years there. That and time have muddled the memories quite a bit. Today I was digging through some old paperwork and one of the books to the musical we did. It's Getting Late For the Great Planet Earth, a folk rock oratorio by Cam Floria. Yes, that's right. Cam Floria put Hal Lindsey to music. There's a lot to laugh about and some to groan about but as I was looking through the songs and remembering, I found this little ditty and I only wish I could sing it for you. Just remember that this is circa 1972 and even th

What if.....

...what if I just need a place to let some words spill out? What if they spill out in bouquets of bright colors and pleasing scents but their frames are made of snakes and lies? Will you the reader be able to tell? Will it matter? When words smell like lilacs and honeysuckle do you care what lies beneath them? Perfumed syllables cover the stench of hope's decay. A violet or two will fool most surface dwellers, allowing them to pass by quickly and unaware. Is that what words are supposed to do? What if my aesthetics with words are similar to Morticia Addams' with flowers? What happens when luscious blooms are discarded? When the ragged silhouette of thorns is all that remains will you still see the beauty? Perhaps we'll find out.

rambling rosemarie

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