Magnifying

Oh magnify the Lord with me... Psalm 34:3

I've been learning a lot about thanksgiving lately in my personal Bible study. I'm doing a word search on it. My search has led me to verses like this:

I will praise the name of God with a song; I will magnify him with thanksgiving. - Psalm 69:30



When we give thanks, we magnify God.

Magnify - to extol. But also, to increase the apparent size of. When we magnify God, we do not increase Him; He already fills the whole earth. When we magnify God, we increase our ability to see Him.

I have a thing for magnifying glasses. I collect them. And those paperweights that magnify whatever picture is glued to the bottom. I am fascinated with them. I also increasingly need to use them, as I am growing older and can't thread a needle or read fine print on how to set my watch.

My boys loved magnifying glasses. They could spend endless hours scrutinizing leaves and bugs and the innards of disassembled TV remotes.

I can find myself hunched over my circumstances, examining every inch of my emotional innards, until my vision is so blurry I cannot see straight.

I can magnify my circumstances, or I can magnify God.

I see this choice played out in scripture. From the belly of the fish, Jonah says, "With a voice of thanksgiving, I will sacrifice to you," and cries out, "Salvation belongs to the LORD!"

David declares the same thing in Psalm 3, and when? Fleeing from Absolam, his own son bent on killing him.

John sees the believers gathered around the throne, crying, "Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!" in Revelation, his great letter to the persecuted church, in the death grip of Rome.

And Mary cries out, as she enters the fiery trial of bearing the Messiah, "My soul magnifies the Lord!" She doesn't make much of the implications of being an unwed mother, of explaining it to Joseph, of hoping anyone believes in virgin birth or the coming of the Christ. She may not understand yet that a sword will pierce her own heart, that her son will be sacrificed. She magnifies the God who has come to save His people, just as He promised—who will save her.

The one who offers thanksgiving as his sacrifice glorifies me; to one who orders his way rightly I will show the salvation of God! - Psalm 50:23

I am not enduring any fiery trials right now. But I have some friends who are. My heart is heavy for several friends who are in the belly of the Red Devil, that poisonous chemo that is the only hope the world offers to save them from the cancer that threatens to kill them. When I think of them, I am overwhelmed by their mouth sores and hair loss and weak bodies. One said, "My esophagus hurts to exist."

How can I pray for them? I feel helpless. I can go over their list of woes, worrying before God, who already knows. And I do this sometimes. Or I can magnify the God who is their only salvation. Giving thanks from the belly of the whale may sound like I don't appreciate the magnitude of their circumstances. Quite the contrary. But I, and they, need to appreciate more the magnitude of our God.

Gratitude journal

Thanks makes now a sanctuary.
Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts

When the kids were little, I started keeping a gratitude journal. I read that Carly Simon kept one. Each day she took one picture—something that caused her to be thankful or joyful. She glued it in her journal and wrote a couple of sentences about it. When I started doing that, I was using a Polaroid camera and handwriting each entry. The boys used to love to look through those big journals. I still love them. I know I'm in trouble when I've stopped keeping a gratitude journal, when there are no pictures or moments recorded. It means I've stopped noticing the presence of God.

So I will be posting my gratitude journal here every week. Today Dennis gave me a very special gift: the Molly Maids came and cleaned my house this morning. So here is what I am grateful for today: a clean house.

Careful how you listen

This week in my Wednesday Bible study we are going to learn how to read Jesus' teachings with understanding. When I was preparing I was reminded of something my friend Luci Freed said years ago: "Jesus was an effective teacher because he asked great questions and he told great stories." I am a storyteller, and I have always loved Jesus' stories. Here's something I learned about his storytelling:

Every Rabbi taught in parables, and many of the parables Jesus used were being taught by other Rabbi. It was the Rabbi's interpretation of the parable that caused you to follow a particular Rabbi's teachings. It was Jesus' unique interpretation of the parables that were radical.

Parables are meant to be heard, not read. Think of a parable much like a stand-up comedy routine. The speaker draws you into his story, and then he delivers the twist or punch line. It's meant to have an effect on the listener, to draw a reaction. The reaction to the twist reveals the heart of the listener.

That's why you should always pay attention to who's in the crowd as Jesus is teaching. There are different types of listeners – the inner group of disciples, the larger group of followers, Gentiles and other outsiders (women, the sick, tax collectors, prostitutes), and Pharisees/other Rabbi. Watch for the reaction of the different listeners. Consider how Jesus' teaching about the kingdom would fall on their hearts and reveal whether they welcomed the kingdom he was bringing or not.

I was pondering that this afternoon as I finished another sermon research file and emailed it to the preaching team. Preachers do something in sermon study called exegesis - that is, they interpret the text by asking a lot of questions of it. And one question we always ask is, "How would the people of that day hear this?" I need to put myself inside the head of each person in the story and hear the truth through their filter. Will they welcome it? Will it be good news? Or will they be threatened by it? Will they reject it?

A second very important task of sermon study is to exegete your congregation. How will the people you are teaching hear this? Will it be good news? Hard news? Will it break their hearts? Will it set them free? Or will it rock their world, so much so that they take up their comfort zones and walk away?

I have the strangest experience every Sunday. I have studied the day's text weeks or months ago. I know what is coming, what the people are going to hear. It's kind of like knowing a bomb is about to be dropped, or a surprise is about to be sprung. And I know what is going on in some of the people's hearts. Sometimes I want to warn them, "This is going to be hard to hear. But hang in there. It is true, and it is the best thing for you." Sometimes I want to call certain people up and say, "Be there Sunday. You need to hear this. It's good news."

Here's the thing about thinking you know what's coming. Quite often you forget to exegete yourself, but Jesus never does. That word you thought you knew, that text you took apart for days, it falls upon your heart, too. And you are revealed.

Jesus always said at the end of a parable: Be careful how you listen.

Diary of a Glad Housewife

Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.

I confess: I love being a housewife.

I know this is not cool or politically correct. Whatever. I'm just saying: I love it. I love taking care of my house. I love doing laundry. I love watering the plants in the garden. I love going through the drive-through at the cleaners and picking up my husband's clean shirts. I love going to the grocery store, thinking about what we might eat tonight or tomorrow night, picking out the butter and the milk and the pasta or the chicken. (The only thing I don't like about grocery shopping is lugging cases of water. I try to leave this chore for Dennis.)

I like my job, too, and I know that I am fortunate to only work part-time and have the flexibility I have. I love my work, studying the Bible and helping our pastors think about the week's passage. I am very aware, in the current climate, that I am beyond blessed to get paid to do something I love.

This fall I am teaching a couple of new Bible studies. On Wednesday mornings, I am teaching a group of women, mostly my age, many of whom I've known for 20 years or more. On Thursday nights, I'm teaching a group of young women, my daughter-in-law's age, some of whom I've only known a couple of weeks. They are young, in their twenties, just starting out in life.

My Wednesday Bible study is held at Brenda Holmes' beautiful and welcoming house. I was washing my hands this morning and noticed the quote above embroidered on a tea towel hanging in Brenda's guest bath.

If I could get these two groups of women together, I think that tea towel sums up what I would say to them. Because I remember what it's like to be just starting out in your twenties. You're just waiting for life to begin happening, or it's just starting to really happen. You're still waiting for the really big things to happen that will mean life has begun.

But when I think about the women in my Wednesday morning Bible study, I think about what we have shared together over the years. Drinking coffee together over Bible studies. Praying together for our children. Pregnancies and births. Christmas programs. Football games. Easter lunches. College visits. Engagements and wedding showers, weddings and grandbabies. Hysterectomies. Cancer. Hard stretches of marriages. Taking each other casseroles. Working in our gardens together.Sharing recipes. Singing in choir together.

These are the little things we have done for twenty or thirty years, daily things, week in and week out. They are the things I treasure. They are the big things that make up our lives, the things we pray about, the things we give thanks for, the things we remember at funerals. She was there for me. She cut my hair. She brought me dinner. She rocked my children in the nursery. She prayed with me. We planted tulips together. We went to Zoomba classes. I watch the girls in my Thursday night group do these things together, and I think, "Good for you. You are not waiting for life to start. This your life, and you have begun it."

I have no deep life lesson to share in this entry. Just gratitude for a lot of litte things, and I think we should share our gratitude, even when it's born out of the embroidery on a tea towel. God is good. And he has blessed us. And he is in the little things. Let us write that on our blogs and embroider it on our tea towels. Maybe that is what God meant when he said "Write it on the doorposts of your houses."

Extreme Home Makeover, Karla edition

I am sitting in the clean, freshly painted front bedroom of my house. The last time it was freshly painted, Matt was 13. It was about this time of year, and we had just moved Seth to Baylor, and while we were gone, Matt moved into Seth's room. He painted one wall bright red and put up all his sports posters. When we came home from TX, he was happily ensconced, the first time he'd ever a had a room to himself.

Matt repainted the red wall for me after he took down all his posters and trophies and packed them up to go to his new apartment in Mississippi. Yesterday I repainted all the trim and bookshelves. Now it is pristine, ready for the crib and toys that we will move in this week, so that Elliott and Eva have a room at Lala & Granddaddy's house.

This is the third room I have made over this week.

On Monday and Tuesday, we helped Matt settle into his apartment. Except for my cooking, I have never really experienced Matt's open admiration, but he was bowled over by my ability to hang a shower curtain properly and set up a kitchen. Hey, I have been keeping house for over 31 years, buddy. I can make a bed and a chicken casserole with the best of them.

Next, I tackled Ben's room, which is like saying, "Next I tidied up the black hole in the galaxy." It was time. And now he has quite a groovy place to live and entertain his friends and create his mad masterpieces of music.

Finally, this weekend, I moved on to this bedroom. Time to make it a nursery. Again.

When we moved into this house in the summer of 1990, this bedroom was hunter green with a duck border around the ceiling. Understand, this room is 10 x 12 with one window. Painted hunter green, it looked like a closet. I promptly wall-papered it with little stripes and put up a toy soldier border. (Wallpaper was very big then.) It was Matt's nursery. Then it was Ben's nursery. And Ben had the croup a lot, so one night I ran the vaporizer all night and steamed the toy soldiers & stripes right off the wall.

As I was painting trim yesterday, I thought about all the iterations of paint and wall paper and furnishings this house has seen in the 21 years we've lived in it. Dennis built every book shelf in every room of this house. Every room has been something, and then it has been something entirely different. Worleys are big into rearranging.

When we moved into this house, the living room was rust-colored with a red brick fireplace. The kitchen had Roy Rogers-style cabinets and a wagon wheel light fixture. The master bedroom was Pepto Bismol Pink, the front bedroom Hunter Green and the back bedroom Baby Blue. We wondered a great deal about the people who had lived here before us. "Wouldn't you like to see their clothes?" my friend Peggy laughed.

As I painted trim yesterday, I thought about what our house would say to whoever came after us. What would they learn about us? Here are a few things:

- When it comes to home repair, Worleys believe if it's worth doing, it's worth doing quickly. We are not the neatest painters, not sticklers for everything being perfect. We like it done. (Dennis' Dad would not be proud.

- Worleys believe if it's worth having, it's worth having long after it's worn out. While I do dream of "all new," I am most comfortable with lived in and loved on.

- Worleys believe if it's worth doing right, there must be somebody we can hire for that. Which is why a lot of things don't get done around here until it's absolutely necessary.

- Worleys believe the best reason for renovation is the imminent arrival of people. Broken handles do not motivate us. We are not stirred to action by 20-year old toddler fingerprints or out-of-date shower fixtures. Most major renovations and repairs have happened around here because we were getting ready to welcome someone.

For years, I counted on our Fourth of July choir picnics. That's when my kitchen cabinets got painted or my patio chairs got upgraded. I got new dining room furniture and forks that matched when family was coming to town for Seth & Arley's wedding. And this weekend, Matt's room got a makeover because baby Eva has arrived.

Making over these rooms is one thing. Making adjustments to the interior of my heart and mind is another. Change is upon us, big change. And when it comes to the renovation of my heart, mind and emotions, God believes if it's worth doing it's worth doing right. It's worth doing slowly and carefully. It's worth peeling back layers and getting to the bones of things. And there is nobody you can hire to do it for you.

So God is busy in my heart, pulling up rugs and peeling off wallpaper. He is shining his light into dusty corners and opening cupboards I had long closed.

This sweet old house has been resilient over the years. It has adapted to the demands of a lifetime with our family and the family that came before us. It inspires me to endure the make-over underway inside me. I pray that my heart will be as welcoming as the walls of this room, which waits to be filled with the next chapter in the life of this family.

Like, I totally agree with this poem

Totally like whatever, you know?
By Taylor Mali


In case you hadn't noticed,
it has somehow become uncool
to sound like you know what you're talking about?
Or believe strongly in what you're saying?
Invisible question marks and parenthetical (you know?)'s
have been attaching themselves to the ends of our sentences?
Even when those sentences aren't, like, questions? You know?

Declarative sentences - so-called
because they used to, like, DECLARE things to be true
as opposed to other things which were, like, not -
have been infected by a totally hip
and tragically cool interrogative tone? You know?
Like, don't think I'm uncool just because I've noticed this;
this is just like the word on the street, you know?
It's like what I've heard?
I have nothing personally invested in my own opinions, okay?
I'm just inviting you to join me in my uncertainty?

What has happened to our conviction?
Where are the limbs out on which we once walked?
Have they been, like, chopped down
with the rest of the rain forest?
Or do we have, like, nothing to say?
Has society become so, like, totally . . .
I mean absolutely . . . You know?
That we've just gotten to the point where it's just, like . . .
whatever!

And so actually our disarticulation . . . ness
is just a clever sort of . . . thing
to disguise the fact that we've become
the most aggressively inarticulate generation
to come along since . . .
you know, a long, long time ago!

I entreat you, I implore you, I exhort you,
I challenge you: To speak with conviction.
To say what you believe in a manner that bespeaks
the determination with which you believe it.
Because contrary to the wisdom of the bumper sticker,
it is not enough these days to simply QUESTION AUTHORITY.
You have to speak with it, too.

Letter to my granddaughter

Dear Eva,

Yesterday you were born. Since then I have not been able to stop thinking about you.

I couldn't imagine what you would be like, since you are the first Worley girl since your Aunt Kathy was born two generations ago. But when I saw you, when I held, you, it was as if I'd always known you. I thought, "Of course, that's our little girl."

Today in church, I prayed for you. I thanked God that you were born safely and that Mommy is alright too. I thanked God for a little girl, because I have wanted a little girl baby since I was a little girl!

Then I talked to God about you. Want to know what I said?

I pray that you will always know that you are loved. Mommy & Daddy & Elliott, Momish & Lala & Granddaddy, Aunt Katy, Uncle Matt & Uncle Ben love you. But you are also loved by a whole community of friends who have been waiting for you and are so happy to see you. We will all help you grow up, cheer you on, teach you things and watch over you. Sometimes you will push us away. But we will never stop loving you.

You have the most wonderful, funny, kind, talented mommy and daddy. You won't always think that, but trust me, you got the good ones. They have already done a really good job raising your brother. He will drive you crazy sometimes, but he's funny and kind too. And he loves you. I always wanted an older brother, so I think you're very lucky.

I pray that you will always know that you are very special. God made you to be just who you are. No one else can be you. Someday you will wish you were like everybody else, that you could just fit in. But God has a special place for you in his story, Eva. Don't be afraid to be yourself.

You have an unusual name; so do I. It will just serve to always remind you that you're not just anybody. Don't get frustrated when teachers don't always get it. Teachers often don't get the most important things about you. But teachers can also show you the world, if you you are fortunate to get the really special ones.

I pray that you will learn a lot of wonderful things about the world. I pray that you will hear about God and come to love him, as I have. I pray that you will grow up sure that he loves you, that he made you, and that he can be trusted. I pray that other people in this world will come to know about God because of you and your special part in God's story. You are here because you have a part to play in that story.

I will tell you a secret Eva: Your daddy was never supposed to be born. At least that's what the doctors said. He was a miracle, a son given to me by God, which is why I named him Seth. When I told your mommy that story, she said, "God must've had a really good reason to make sure he was in the world." I know that's true of your daddy. It's true of your mommy. And it's true of you.

Welcome to the world, Eva Worley. It's already different because you're here.

Love,

Lala