We are going to die. There is no question that it is going to happen. Before we die ourselves, we may have loved ones die before us. Our friends or family could also struggle with illness and disease. That should not come as a surprise to us. We know that traumatic things happen. We can recognize this as logical fact. Life is fleeting. And fleeing. Away.

Often in the aftermath of trauma, a person will pick themselves up by their bootstraps, and have a new lease on life as they boldly go on to bring about change in response to their circumstances. Some folks will start ministries, some will spend more time with the people they love. The mom who heads up a foundation to help children with the disease that took her child, the executive that cuts back to fewer hours after his first wife left, and the homeschool mom of a prodigal who learns to value relationship above academics ~ they all have something in common. They have learned.  They now know that life is too short to waste time on the meaningless drivel of striving in the world. Priority is newly placed on relationships rather than success. They value their time with their families and friends more now, after "what they've been through". This is a good and godly response to tragedy.

But I'm not willing to wait until tragedy comes. Knowing that there is no tomorrow pushes me to get back to basics today. I am scared not to. I am afraid with a godly fear of wasting the time I have been given ~ of not making the most of every opportunity the Lord places in my path. I am scared of not valuing the relationships with which Father has blessed me  appropriately. In the past few years, we have purposed to put a stake in the ground, and make changes ~ as many and as radical ~ as the Lord reveals in order to value what He values, and to live with eternity in view. Eternity is all that will matter, and we cannot go back and have a second chance. There is something very freeing about living with one's deathbed in mind. It will come soon enough anyway...and maybe sooner than we think.

If I could encourage you in anything, it would be this: ask Father to help you put to death any of Martha, and any spirit of worldliness that resides in you, and sit at His feet like Mary. Are there relationships that He is leading you to restore? I urge you to do it.  When relationships and the world collide, let there be no doubt of which side He is on. Listen to His voice and obey. Love people. Be real. Only one thing is needful. If our every idle word will be accounted, how much more so our actions?  "Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin", James 4:17. Hard words, yes, but from a loving God ~ for our good.

Remember, God has many names, but one of them is not Practical Polly. All the what-if's or buts that come to our minds do not hail from His lips. Without making pretzels with God's word, sales, agendas, and goals have little place in His economy.Those things have more basis in our fleshly desires than in His revealed will, no matter how much we try to convince ourselves otherwise.  Ask me how I know. Fear of man, time pressures or any other excuse we mutter to excuse disobedience are not from Him, either. Those relationships He brings to mind may be the means He uses to minister back to us ~ if we will only heed His voice in obedient trust.

Repentance and forgiveness are good, but restoration is better.

Because one day it will be too late.

And that day may be soon.

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I was walking along, minding my own business, when it happened. Two Autumns ago, during my early morning driveway walk, I had my two partners: my gun (because of lions, tigers and bears) and my Walkman. The day in question, I happened to be listening to a Jonathan Lindvall tape ~ nothing unusual there, I often listen to a tape or music on my walks. I like to listen to something on the second lap so I can hear something besides my own loud breathing. It is a golden opportunity to listen to my choice of music at my choice of decibel, which at almost all other times are outvoted by the rest of the family. But I digress. 

On said tape, Mr. Lindvall was discussing how he and his wife felt led to get completely out of debt , to include having no mortgage, and went on to discuss their method of achieving exactly that. Upon the first listen, I smugly dismissed the idea as super-spiritual, unnecessary, and not a possibility anyway, thank-you-very-much. We had just moved to this farm that spring, and had gutted, remodeled and added on to this house to make it just what we wanted. This house and farm were, for all intents and purposes at the time, my dream.

Enter the Holy Spirit. After several days of being either too lazy or too hurried (I will not disclose which), to get a new tape on my way out the door , I was stuck listening to said tape for about two weeks in a row. As I listened and argued with the tape day after day, the Holy Spirit nudged. Mr. Visionary was working five very long days at the time, and in truth, we never saw him. Saturdays were spent doing farm work from sunup until after dark, and Sundays were spent on church and naps (to help make up for the other six days), hence weekends were gone in a blink. I wanted my husband back, and we all wanted our family back. I was beginning to see that the mortgage had to go.

In the meantime, the Lord was also revealing to us a new dream ~ that of being able to have enough land to give to our children to help start them off better than we were started. Since our current farm is only fifteen acres, this dream would involve having a much larger chunk of property. And moving. I tried to remind the Holy Spirit that I had previously, proudly and loudly announced that I would not move from this house unless the Lord called us on the mission field. He replied with a question, "Did you get that from ME, or was that your big idea?" My wanting it to be the Lord's idea didn't count. It never does.

Providentially, the housing market in our area has skyrocketed. Our house is now worth twice what we paid for it three years ago, which is good news and bad news. We can sell it, and make enough to buy property debt-free...but not around here. We will need to move across the country to find land inexpensive enough, unless the Lord intervenes. We are praying for an opportunity to find land in our same state, as Mr. Visionary is an only child of aging parents, and my family has just this summer migrated back  to the same state for the first time in fifteen years (and who knew cousins could be so much fun!).

So, we're working toward getting our house finished (with a schedule like ours was, there was never time to finish all the remodeling), and putting it on the market this Summer, and saying goodbye to a mortgage forever. What happens next is in His hands. It is our goal...our dream, if you will. But the real goal is to always listen and obey what the Lord's will is for us. Speak, Lord, for your servants heareth...

Use the Walkman if necessary.




*I don't expect to agree with every detail of everyone to whom I listen. Use the Grocery Store Approach to Jonathan Lindvall, take what you can use, leave the rest. I don't necessarily condone everything he ever says, but I don't discount it outright, either. Remember the Bereans SEARCHED the Scriptures DAILY. We should as well.

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It was a sucker punch.

Sneaking up out of nowhere, December grabbed me from behind, clobbered me and threw me to the ground. Too stupid to land on my knees, I landed on my feet and tried to keep going. Staggering, barely able to catch my breath, and with my vision impaired, I was determined to keep going. I had my seventh baby in September, and was adjusting well (at least I had the appearance of such). I made it through Thanksgiving, not exuding grace, by any means, but at least I made it. Although I am not sure exactly what it was I was trying to accomplish, I knew could do this. The Lord could count on me.

Or so I thought.

Waking up New Years's morning with a stomach virus was the best thing that could have happened to me. Even better was that Mr. Visionary and I came down with it simultaneously - I couldn't get mad  at him for not 'getting me out of this mess'. Flat on our backs for almost three days with seven children to care for, we were in a position to do nothing but trust the Lord and allow our friends to take care of things for us. Humbled does not even begin to describe my position. It was the introduction of a rich, but painful season of the Lord dealing with me about the lie of self-sufficiency and the fruitlessness of determining my own goals. Enter January where I have spent much time in absolute meltdown, surveying the carnage in the wake of one bad month. My laundry and home were a piece of cake in comparison to the relationship damage that had been done in one short season. Wondering why 'the Lord' has me in such a difficult season of having so much on my plate, I have been doing much praying...and eventually...listening.

It is amazing sometimes how complicated things can become when your goal is to 'get back to basics' or to 'live simply'. It amazes me more how I can so quickly point a finger at my Lord and question His plan. But all things work together for good, and even my questioning was an instrument in His hand. Or more aptly, His answer was. Whether or not this journey started out as something we were led to by the Lord, it had evolved into something far divergent. I've recently had the opportunity to see have my eyes opened to how foolish my lifestyle and fleeting my goals had become.

 As I laid before Him a list of everything that was on my plate, truly desiring to hear from Him about each line item, conviction fell in the form of hot,  sobbing tears in recognition of the 'wretched man that I am'. I wish I could say that I held high my list upon open palms and allowed His Spirit to blow away the extraneous items like chaff. I did not. My flesh fought hard to justify why each thing just 'had' to be done, that this was what 'good ____ (Christians, mothers homesteaders...) did'. And yet...I kept hearing Him say, 'I never gave you that. I never gave you that, either. As a matter of fact, I never gave you that, that, that, or that... Only one thing is needful. Only. One.'

Exactly how does one wage war against a still small voice?

Spiritually I had become deaf, dumb, and blind in many areas. But once again, His grace made a way for me to come home. I experienced the truth of Acts 3:19 anew, 'Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord'. Peace and rest in Him are beautiful things. Recently I've learned they are the only things.

Now you know where I have been. I wish it didn't take so long for the Lord to get through to me each time, but I'll take that over not getting through any time. I'll be explaining in more detail some of what Father has shown me recently, and hopefully, some of the lifestyle changes I am making in obedience to Him. I hope you will be blessed and encourged in the area of listening only to Him...

Because only one thing is needful.    

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The waters are troubled. A deep, quiet bubbling…churning…boiling…in the secret places of my heart is the cause of an ache that is yearning to be soothed. There are questions longing for answers, my spirit’s burden longing to be lifted. I struggle to hear His voice, to know with certainty that His will is as I believe it to be.  Only by grace could I obey this voice, just as it is by grace that I think I am hearing…

 
I recently read several reviews of a book, (here and here), perusing them without a blip on my radar. The time had not yet come, apparently. After an experiment this December with an uncharacteristic-for-us frantic schedule, I was drained. Road weary and battle-scarred, I felt as if our spirits had been assaulted through the constant running…going…hurrying. While we were yet sinners, he died for us…and while we were yet striving He spoke to us. In the midst of the commotion, an acquaintance loaned us the same book. It’s time had come…and I was ready.

Only one other book, Stepping Heavenward by Elizabeth Prentiss, has ever affected me even remotely as profoundly. (You mean, it is normal to not be perfect overnight, and that sanctification is a process?) My reading of Henry and the Great Society left me alternating between weeping violently, worshipping passionately, but more often a chorus of both. Confirmation to me of how well my Father knows me and the deepest cries of my heart, I was relieved, oh, so relieved…so delivered from a burden that I had been carrying. One that I had been carrying for so long that my only notice of it was a whispered doubt that, “This is not the way God meant for me to live”. 

 
Henry is a normal guy with whom we journey into his entrance and entrapment in the “Great Society”.  Based on 1Timothy 6:6-21, his story is woven to show us that the subtle-but-sure lies of Satan in the Garden are still at work to destroy us. The book assumes that most of those who read the message will not “get it” (without eyes to see), and of those that do, most will change nothing (hearers but not doers), so don’t be alarmed if you come away wondering what all they hype is about. Mr. Visionary had me order a case of them to pass out, and I am expecting to get that reaction almost exclusively. But for that one…or two…the exceptions…it could be life-changing.

 
If you are intrigued, you may order Henry and the Great Society from Cumberland Books. After you read the story of Henry, go back and study the chapters that follow ~ and have your Bible handy. No matter your opinion of the author’s brief mention of the Rapture, the rest is gold, and much food for thought. And prayer. Gut-wrenching prayer. 

 
Now I am convinced that the nagging fear that I was the problem (this is not intended to discount my sin nature), that my failures to function ‘just like everyone else’ was false. My years spent trying to find ways to make it work are over. By His grace, I know that the system itself is flawed. And I for one ~ am getting out.

 
I don’t yet know how…or what this will look like fleshed out, but by His grace, I and mine are getting out of the rat race…

 
Show me what it looks like, Lord.

Note: An MP3 version of the first few chapters can be heard here.

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During the last 48 hours or so, as Mr. Visionary and I have had our opportunity to partake of the gastroinstestinal virus that has been passed through the family, I have had much time to stare at the ceiling (or the bathroom flooring) and consider. As I laid there mulling over how advantageous it is to have a bathroom floor in the same shade as one’s hair, I also spent time thinking through those issues on which the Lord has recently had His finger in our life.  

On my personal To-Do List, pegged for the near future, is to clean out the attic. My goal is to rid our lives of 80% of the stuff accumulated there, but as of yet, I do not know what form this will take. Will it be that 80% of the furniture,  clothes, and ‘stuff’ is gone equally from each category, or will it be more general, in that just 80% of the bulk is gone from the attic in general? As I pondered, I realized that I truly have no idea what is in many of the boxes. So I pondered some more, trying hard to remember.

What I remembered was numbing. Several moves ago, we were to spend nine months renting the home of some friends while the Dad went to a ministry school. Knowing that we were moving again in nine months, we used one of the bedrooms to store our ‘extra stuff’. Never in the nine months did we break into the stash, nor did we feel a need. Our next move was into a tiny-for-us house, without room for our ‘extra stuff’. The same stored boxes went to my in-laws’ three-car garage to sit while moth and rust (and mice) did their work until our next move.

The miniscule percentage of those items that I kept remind me of my attic now. How much do we really need to live? Really. Need. Not to necessarily live as the world does, in our culture, at this time…but to simply live? And how much of the ‘extra stuff’ keeps us so busy working to buy, use and maintain it that we have little time for God or the work He has given us?  How sick and tired of the stuff is sick and tired enough?

I will be working through this some more, as I am sensing that this is only the beginning ~ the first few wobbly steps on a journey to a new kind of freedom...

“…And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free” John 8:32.

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His weeping was a wake up call for me. His shuddering sobs a reminder of what things are important. I had not wholly forgotten, but the severity of the consequences had faded in my heart. My hopeful sense of expectancy had somewhere, somehow over the years, grown colder. My aching fear had lessened to a casual matter-of-factness.   When, during an all-too-routine talk with Little Napoleon this morning, he broke down in tears over his sin instead of the usual mechanical, 'Yes, Mom...yes, Mom...yes, Mom' cycle...I knew the Lord was working. I preached the gospel to him again-the bad news first, then the good. When he still seemed sincerely repentant, I called in the older children who are believers. Testing his response in front of everyone, we walked through Psalm 51 with him, and he remained steadfast in his decision. It appears that Little Napoleon was truly born again.   In the midst of the other children interrogating questioning him, I noticed the Engineer weeping violently. Imagining him to be rejoicing for Little Napoleon, instead I found him to be heartbroken for the Dreamer, who is (in our opinion) still unsaved.  A foolish (but graciously short-lived) season of our allowing the Dreamer to be in a Sunday School class has left him with a warped view of the gospel. The easy-believism-ask-Jesus-into-your-heart-and-live-happily-ever-after plan to which he had brainwashing exposure, was the source of agony to the Engineer. He was weeping over his brother's unsaved state...and his very sure future outside of true repentance.   Reflecting on this later in the day, it was needful for me to repent of my lackadaisical attitude about the unbelievers I love. Thanksgiving is coming, along with many unsaved relatives visiting. Some claim to be believers and are not, some know they are not and do not care. Knowing that their fates will be the same, how much do I care?   Lord, remind me where I was when you found me, how it was no different from them. Remind me how you prepared someone to preach to me, and how they need the same. Remind me anew of how to fulfill the debt of love I owe to You...    'So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God' (Romans 10:17).   'How then shall they call on him in whom they have not believed? and how shall they believe in him whom they have not heard? and how shall they hear without a preacher?' (Romans 10:14).

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He said to do it. He even blessed it. Back before the Fall and before the Law, He told us to do it. His doing it Himself convinced me that it was something I should be doing. Yet I struggle with observing the Sabbath.  There is a battle storming between my flesh and spirit…

Rationally I am convinced that I need to rest on the Sabbath. I am fully aware of the physiologic benefits of cycling through periods of exertion and rest. It makes us more efficient, and we are healthier when alternating our working and resting. I truly believe God planned this for our best good. For my best good.

Then why the struggle?

In the midst of the day’s work, I vacillate between sincerely desiring to ‘work heartily as unto the Lord’ and having my body piercingly scream for rest.  I need stillness.  In the midst of the pressures and stress of daily living my spirit quietly whimpers for a reprieve. I need peace. In the flurry of activity a fleeting, over-the-shoulder glance at my Bible does not suffice. I need intimacy.

When the preparation day arrives, I am not ready. I do not want to stop striving toward my own purposes. Although His yoke is easy and His burden is light my To-Do list is never finished and my labor never completed. In my flesh there is no desire to leave off my agenda and prepare for that to which I know He is calling me. He whispers while my list shrieks.  On the Sabbath, my list mocks me, taunting me with the alleged ‘wasted time’.

I have to remind myself (a thousand times a day if needed) that this is a day blessed and sanctified by Him for me.  My Jesus is Lord of this day, and whatever it takes to enter into this small taste of that forever-rest is worth doing. There is no righteousness attached to this day-my Lord took care of my righteousness once and for all at the Cross.

But the blessings are infinite…Stillness. Peace. Intimacy. Rest. 

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Last week Amy gave a glowing review of a booklet called 'Rest For Weary Homeschool Moms', written by Jane Bentley. This week she has gone one farther and gotten permission to post the link so that we may download the article. This is a must-read for a homeschool Mom (or any Mom), as it is rich with practical advice for a Mom experiencing 'one of those days', or proactively trying to avoid the same. Here's the link: Rest For Weary Homeschool Moms Thanks to Jane Bentley for writing it. Thanks to Faith and Family Books for introducing it to Amy. Thanks to Amy for reviewing it and making it so easily available to us. Really, this is one to print and read right away, then go back and study during your quiet time. It's that good.

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My grandiose plans are crumbling around me. I had it all figured out. After delivering my sweet little bundle, I would come home, rest two weeks, then begin my 'after baby weight loss campaign'. I was sure that it would only take eight to ten weeks to be back in pre-pregnancy shape. The degree of my presumption had not quite hit me. But hit me it would.   My plan involved taking full advantage of our long driveway, since walking to the mailbox and back is a full half mile. The children and I even planned into our school day a half hour block to go out and walk together. A lovely walk in lovely weather all the while losing those unlovely pounds...it was all going to work perfectly! Allowing the boys to run off some energy in the middle of school was a fringe benefit that made the whole thing almost too good to be true.   You know that verse in Proverbs (16:9) that says, 'A man's heart deviseth his way: but the Lord directeth his steps'? It's true. Ask me how I know. God uses various means to get our attention, and change our big plans. This time my lesson was hammered home with, well...a sledge hammer. Having it fall from a four-foot high shelf onto my bare foot has precluded not only driveway walking but also my presumptuous predictions.   So, while the children are busy having a Crayola-esque 'Name That Color' contest for the purpley-blackish-green color of Mom's foot, I will be meditating on scripture. Something along the lines of 'Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapor, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away. For that ye ought to say, If the Lord will, we shall live, and do this, or that' (James 4:14-15). Yeah, that.   I wonder if they make toe nail polish in this unnamed color?

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Ideally it would radiate from my eyes, so filling me that it exudes from my very pores. I'm not there, but I realize that this is the way it should be. I can recognize the ideal in many situations, even while being assured that in real life, the goal may not be attained. However, I'm learning there can be intermediate steps that can  give Him glory on the way.

When the priests and Levites came to John the Baptist asking, "Who are you?", his answers uncompromisingly and unabashedly gave glory to the Messiah.  Every part of his response pointed to the Messiah and His glory. When John mentioned his being unworthy to even unlatch the sandal of Jesus, he wasn't playing the Poor-Pitiful-Me game-it wasn't about him. John was stressing how great our God is. No pride (false or otherwise)-just Jesus, and John's relationship to His kingdom: "I am a voice..."

Who John claims to be is encompassed by whose he is, and his calling in God's kingdom. How often I have the opportunity to answer this very question, and blow it. Of course, it is not asked in these words. It is generally veiled by queries about, "How do you do it all?", because what people really want to know is, "Why would you do this all?" Knowing they don't understand could be the perfect opportunity to give my Lord glory through my answer, as I too, tell whose I am, and my calling in His kingdom. And yet I most often do not.

How I would love to be that woman who, walking in the Spirit, so illumines my surroundings that God's presence is tangilbe to even the casual observer! I know this would be the Lord's desire for me as well. So often this question (Who are you?) comes while I am distracted, living the moment in Martha's world instead of Mary's, and I stumble over some trite answer that does not point to Him. While I fall short, I also fall on His grace, and know that while missing the mark, I am still beloved of Him. Until I have arrived, (if that will even be on this side of Glory), and the right answers just roll off my tongue without effort, I can practice the right answer.

Will God be less glorified by my having an answer pre-planned and well-thought-out ahead of time? I hope not. My heart is to glorify Him, and if that takes spending some time in the afterglow of worship, praying over an answer for the hope that is within me, then so be it. Even though it has to be better than my current fumbling for an answer, I will still pray to be transformed into that woman from whom His living water flows spontaneously...for I know He is able to perform even this.

Until that day, I better get busy on my answer...because the question will surely come when I'm least expecting it.

Just like babies...

Just like His return...

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(This was so moving, I couldn't resist sharing it. It is long, but I promise it is rich enough to be worth the time.)

There was a certain Professor of Religion named Dr Christianson, a studious man who taught at a small college in the western United States. Dr. Christianson taught the required survey course in Christianity at this particular institution. Every student was required to take this course his or her freshman year, regardless of his or her major. Although Dr Christianson tried hard to communicate the essence of the gospel in his class, he found that most of his students looked upon the course as nothing but required drudgery. Despite his best efforts, most students refused to take Christianity seriously. This year, Dr. Christianson had a special student named Steve. Steve was only a freshman, but was studying with the intent of going on to seminary for the ministry. Steve was popular, he was well liked, and he was an imposing physical specimen. He was now the starting center on the school football team, and was the best student in the professor's class. One day, Dr. Christianson asked Steve to stay after class so he could talk with him.
"How many push-ups can you do?"

Steve said, "I do about 200 every night."

"200? That's pretty good, Steve," Dr. Christianson said. "Do you think you could do 300?"

Steve replied, "I don't know... I've never done 300 at a time."

"Do you think you could?" again asked Dr. Christianson.

"Well, I can try," said Steve.

"Can you do 300 in sets of 10? I have a class project in mind and I need you to do about 300 push-ups in sets of ten for this to work. Can you do it? I need you to tell me you can do it,"  said the professor.

Steve said, "Well... I think I can...yeah, I can do it."

Dr. Christianson said, "Good! I need you to do this on Friday. Let me explain what I have in mind."

Friday came and Steve got to class early and sat in the front of the room. When class started, the professor pulled out a big box of donuts. No, these weren't the normal kinds of donuts, they were the extra fancy BIG kind, with cream centers and frosting swirls.  Everyone was pretty excited. It was Friday, the last class of the day, and they were going to get an early start on the weekend with a party in Dr. Christianson's class.

Dr. Christianson went to the first girl in the first row and asked, "Cynthia, do you want to have one of these donuts?"

Cynthia said, "Yes."

Dr. Christianson then turned to Steve and asked, "Steve, would you do ten push-ups so that Cynthia can have a donut?"

"Sure." Steve jumped down from his desk to do a quick ten. Then Steve again sat in his desk. Dr. Christianson put a donut on Cynthia's desk.

Dr. Christianson then went to Joe, the next person, and asked, "Joe, do you want a donut?"

Joe said, "Yes."

 Dr. Christianson asked, "Steve would you do ten push-ups so Joe can have a donut?"

Steve did ten push-ups, Joe got a donut. And so it went, down the first aisle, Steve did ten push ups for every person before they got their donut. Walking down the second aisle, Dr. Christianson came to Scott. Scott was on the basketball team, and in as good condition as Steve. He was very popular and never lacking for female companionship.

When the professor asked, "Scott do you want a donut?"

Scott's reply was, "Well, can I do my own push ups?"

Dr. Christianson said, "No, Steve has to do them."

Then Scott said, "Well, I don't want one then."

Dr. Christianson shrugged and then turned to Steve and asked,

"Steve, would you do ten push ups so Scott can have a donut he doesn't want?" With perfect obedience Steve started to do ten push ups.

Scott said, "HEY! I said I didn't want one!"

Dr. Christianson said, "Look, this is my classroom, my class, my desks, and these are my donuts. Just leave it on the desk if you don't want it." And he put a donut on Scott's desk. Now by this time, Steve had begun to slow down a little. He just stayed on the floor between sets because it took too much effort to be getting up and down. You could start to see a little perspiration coming out around his brow.
Dr. Christianson started down the third row. Now the students were beginning to get a little angry.

Dr. Christianson asked Jenny, "Jenny, do you want a donut?"

Sternly, Jenny said, "No."

Then Dr. Christianson asked Steve, "Steve, would you do ten more push-ups so Jenny can have a donut that she doesn't want?" Steve did ten....Jenny got a donut.

By now, a growing sense of uneasiness filled the room. The students were beginning to say "No" and there were all these uneaten donuts on the desks. Steve also had to really put forth a lot of extra effort to get these push ups done for each donut. There began to be a small pool of sweat on the floor beneath his face, his arms and brow were beginning to get red because of the physical effort involved.

Dr. Christianson asked Robert, who was the most vocal unbeliever in the class, to watch Steve do each push up to make sure he did the full ten push ups in a set because he couldn't bear to watch all of Steve's work for all of those uneaten donuts. He sent Robert over to where Steve was so Robert could count the set and watch Steve closely.

Dr. Christianson started down the fourth row.  During his class, however, some students from other classes had wandered in and sat down on the steps along the radiators that ran down the sides of the room. When the professor realized this, he did a quick count and saw that now there were 34 students in the room. He started to worry if Steve would be able to make it.

Dr. Christianson went on to the next person and the next and the next. Near the end of that row, Steve was really having a rough time. He was taking a lot more time to complete each set.

Steve asked Dr Christianson, "Do I have to make my nose touch on each one?"

Dr. Christianson thought for a moment, "Well, they're your push ups You are in charge now. You can do them any way that you want." And Dr. Christianson went on.

A few moments later, Jason, a recent transfer student, came to the room and was about to come in when all the students yelled in one voice, "No! Don't come in! Stay out!"

Jason didn't know what was going on.

Steve picked up his head and said, "No, let him come."

Professor Christianson said, "You realize that if Jason comes in you will have to do ten push ups for him?"

Steve said, "Yes, let him come in. Give him a donut."

Dr. Christianson said, "Okay, Steve, I'll let you get Jason's out of the way right now. Jason, do you want a donut?"

Jason, new to the room, hardly knew what was going on. "Yes," he said,"give me a donut."

"Steve, will you do ten push-ups so that Jason can have a donut?" Steve did ten push ups very slowly and with great effort.  Jason, bewildered, was handed a donut and sat down.

Dr. Christianson finished the fourth row, and then started on those visitors seated by the heaters. Steve's arms were now shaking with each push-up in a struggle to lift himself against the force of gravity. By this time sweat was profusely dropping off of his face, there was no sound except his heavy breathing; there was not a dry eye in the room.

The very last two students in the room were two young women, both cheerleaders, and very popular.

Dr. Christianson went to Linda, the second to last, and asked, "Linda, do you want a doughnut?"

Linda said, very sadly, "No, thank you."

Professor Christianson quietly asked, "Steve, would you do ten push-ups so that Linda can have a donut she doesn't want?" Grunting from the effort, Steve did ten very slow push ups for Linda.

Then Dr Christianson turned to the last girl, Susan. "Susan, do you want a donut?"

Susan, with tears flowing down her face, began to cry. "Dr. Christianson,
why can't I help him?"

Dr. Christianson, with tears of his own, said, "No, Steve has to do it alone, I have given him this task and he is in charge of seeing that everyone has an opportunity for a donut whether they want it or not. When I decided to have a party this last day of class, I looked my grade book. Steve here is the only student with a perfect grade.  Everyone else has failed a test, skipped class, or offered me inferior work. Steve told me that in football practice, when a player messes up he must do push-ups. I told Steve that none of you could come to my party unless he paid the price by doing your push ups. He and I made a deal for your sakes."

"Steve, would you do ten push-ups so Susan can have a donut?"

As Steve very slowly finished his last push up, with the understanding that he had accomplished all that was required of him, having done 350 push ups, his arms buckled beneath him and he fell to the floor.

Dr. Christianson turned to the room and said."And so it was, that our Savior, Jesus Christ, on the cross, plead to the Father, "into thy hands I commend my spirit." With the understanding that He had done everything that was required of Him, He yielded up His life. And like some of those in this room, many of us leave the gift on the desk, uneaten."

Two students helped Steve up off the floor and to a seat, physically exhausted, but wearing a thin smile.

"Well done, good and faithful servant," said the professor, adding "Not all sermons are preached in words."

Turning to his class, the professor said, "My wish is that you might understand and fully comprehend all the riches of grace and mercy that have been given to you through the sacrifice of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. He spared not His only Begotten Son, but gave Him up for us all, for the whole Church, now and forever. Whether or not we choose to accept His gift to us, the price has been paid."

"Wouldn't you be foolish and ungrateful to leave it lying on the desk?"

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They don't grow faster just because I keep peeking. In fact, it appears to have no effect whatsoever. Whether I sneak out to the garden two times or twelve times in a day, the net effect is still zilch.

Happily I can report that there are indeed a few seedlings in our newly planted garden. I think. Or perhaps they are weeds. It is difficult to discern the difference. Having never actually observed a radish plant (or turnip, carrot, parsnip, beet, or dill), I can only conjecture (poor city kid). I definitely did not buy seeds packaged "especially for beginners". I know this because there are no pictures on the seed envelopes.

My time now is spent pondering the implications of possible weed invaders. I cannot risk plucking up my precious seedlings inadvertently. The cost of that unwitting act would be weeping, wailing, and reproofs from my children. I shudder at the thought.

Therefore, the weeds have to stay for a while until I am able to correctly discern their evil identities. How long will that be? By the time I recognize them, will it be too late? Will they have accomplished their sinister deeds under cover of dark soil, wrapping themselves tightly around the roots of our cherished seedlings? If I wait too long, will I damage or (gulp) even kill the seedlings in the process of ripping out the weeds?

I'm thinking the best plan is to get help from one who knows the difference between the evil and the good, and is able to root out the weeds without damage to the healthy roots.

I've listened to enough Christiana to know that there are spiritual applications here. Surely there are secret sins lying beneath the surface of my heart that I have yet to recognize. They, too, can weave themselves around the healthy roots and cause damage. Waiting until they grow up is too dangerous. By the time they are recognizable, I may be too attached to them, and them to me.

I'm thinking the best plan is to get help from One who knows the difference between the evil and the good, and is able to root out the weeds without damage to the healthy roots.  

I know that One. He does know the difference, and He is able. Just like David I'll ask Him,"Who can understand his faults? Cleanse thou me from secret faults." Psalm 19:12.

About the garden weeds, I'll probably ask Old Mr. Clark from across the street.

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