When the Menu is Manna

The book of Joshua is another story of surrender. Like Joseph, God had a calling on Joshua’s life long before He brought His will to fruition. It is in the pages of his story that we find a man who prior to God calling him, was in the shadows of scripture, not idle but somewhat hidden until the appointed time came. Chapter 1 of the book bearing his name establishes the promise God gave to Joshua before He used Him in service to lead the Israelites to the promised land of Canaan.  “No one will be able to stand up against you all the days of your life. As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you or forsake you. “ Interestingly enough, God does not spend time in the scripture listing all of Joshua’s credentials. He has already had His eye on Joshua from time past. He knew his capabilities, but most importantly He knew his heart.  Who Was Joshua? Born during the time of the enslavement of the Israelites in Egypt, Joshua was the son of Nun, a brick maker or h...

  "...there is a future for the man of peace." Psalm 37:37 ​ In the early morning of Christmas morning, 1914, allied troops were weary from battle, and the brutal cold hunkered below the frozen earth in human-made ravines. There, they tried to avoid being in the sight of the enemy and gain a few hours of much-needed rest. As they listened, the familiar sounds of the night began to give way to the morning. That day was remarkably different. Though the frosty air was filled with the sounds of the wind and trees rustling and the fluttering of branches as creatures descended to the ground in search of food, all these breaks of dawn sounds, well-known and even comforting, were replaced as music filled up the otherwise dark quiet place. It was the sound of a familiar tune sung in the enemy's native tongue. The words of the song "Silent Night." became more recognizable as the infantrymen, with some reservation, cautiously raised their heads above the openings of the da...

                                                                                                                                                                         Stuck in rush hour traffic, rounding the corner onto aisle 3 at the local grocery store only to navigate your overfilled cart through the breakage of a five-gallon jar of pickles - especially if you broke the jar or showing up for Bible study where the same "well-meaning soul" shares in great length everything possibly known to man from her "Confidential Prayer List" but somehow never gets to the pr...

  I feel hypocritical in writing this because, at this time, I have at least ten sticky notes of various colors and possibly even shapes on my desk. A few checklists are lying around as well. Some are written on the backs of envelopes, on leftover copies, and some, in desperation, are placed on a leftover fast-food napkin or superstore receipt. Each one reminds me of a task that needs my "immediate attention. As I survey the vast array of colorful, well-meaning notes that will guide my every moment if I allow them to, I feel a bit bogged down. Call this person ASAP - as if the world will stop turning if I don't. Look into this… type this, send this, organize this, respond to this. Where did I learn to be driven by checklists?  This condition may have materialized as a youth. My roots as a child were definitely biblically conservative. As early as eight years old, each week, I received a little envelope with boxes to check that showed what I had accomplished the previous week...

w My first-grade teacher never smiled. Any sign of emotion was clearly hidden behind her dark-rimmed glasses. I remember the suits she wore to school. No wispy, soft fabric or ruffles that invited a quick hug when there was an imminent boo-boo or tears. No smell of perfume or pretty jewelry to admire. Daily, she moved throughout the classroom methodically and intentionally. The room was orderly. I can still smell the pencil shavings from the morning's lineup at the old, rickety, hand-cranked sharpener that clanked, clattered and rattled with the grinding.  Certain it would fall right off the wall at any moment, we were all willing to risk it just to get that extra sharp point on the end of our pencils that signaled readiness for the next clean page in our Big Chief tablets.  My teacher gave the signal for milk break each morning with such authority that I was uncertain whether there was an option to not drink it. I wouldn't say I liked milk, so as the rows were called forward ...

A large, beautiful tapestry hung in the long hallway of the house where I grew up. My parents purchased it while living in Berlin, Germany, as my dad took his turn serving our country in the United States Army in the 1960s. The front side of this work of art was a stunning scene of deer standing among snowy trees in the darkness. I thought it was beautiful. As a child, when no one was looking, I loved to run my fingers over the tapestry, feel the velvety threads, and see how the sheen of the nap changed depending on how I brushed the surface. Also, very curious about the backside of the wall hanging, one day, after getting up enough courage to loosen a corner, I glanced at the underside of the tapestry. I was amazed to find a smooth back with no stray threads and somewhat of the same image the front side bore, just a little duller in color. How was it possible, I wondered, to have perfection on both sides? I had expected to see wild patterns of knotted threads with no beginning or end....

Sometimes, it can be none other than the Lord's prompting to write about certain things. I wouldn't say I like this about myself, but sometimes - often. I am a glass-half-empty girl when it comes to perspective. It stems from my battle - forgetting that I am a daughter of the King with full rights to choose and exercise the spirit of gratefulness every day. I have my moments, my ups and downs, when it comes to gratefulness, so writing about this is most likely more for me than anyone reading it! So, what would it look like if I committed to continually practicing gratefulness? Identifying with those who drip and ooze with gratitude... I'm just not there yet. However, once, I met someone very close to mastering gratitude.  A few years ago, when my human preference to maintain a reserved mannerism and the prescribed amount of personal space was radically challenged, I met Dani. We were working together with secondary students in a small school. If working with teenagers and b...