Michelle Adserias resides on a small farm in Wisconsin with her husband. Their four children have all flown the coop. She is a student of God's Word and God's heart thrives on teaching biblical truths to others. Michelle also enjoys hand embroidery, nature photography, playing the piano and writing. She is currently the editor of Today's Christian Living magazine.
Tonight a cold moon casts bold shadows over a crisp snow. Venus hovers in the night sky, outshining all her co-stars. And the Big Dipper hangs low on the horizon, slopping all its contents over the down-turned handle onto the treetops.
Underfoot, the snow creaks a complaint about the weight of my boots. Truth be told, we’d both prefer it was just a little warmer. I chuckle at the thought. Why am I so prone to be discontent? When it’s 85˚and humid, I wish it were cooler. When it’s 10˚ and snowy, I long for a hot summer day. I complain when it rains on a day I planned to go biking. I complain when the sun warms the snow on a day I planned to go skiing. Complain, complain, complain.
A speaker on the Christian radio station recently said complaining is rooted in selfishness. Ouch! But when I look closely at my trivial complaints – about the weather, about circumstances, about the people in my life -I know it’s true. My grumbling is rooted in the gap between my expectations and my reality.
The Father often checks our hearts through the words and insights of fellow believers, then brings us back to the truths in His word. In Philippians 4:10-13, the apostle Paul tells his church family he has learned to be content in every circumstance. And, what’s Paul’s secret to contentment? “I can do all things through Him (Christ) who strengthens me.” When we rely on God’s strength to see each day as He sees it, we begin to find more contentment. Our focus shifts from our wants and needs to what God is trying to accomplish. When we are grateful for God’s provision of our necessities, we become more content with every unnecessary blessing.
In
Philippians 2:14-15, Paul exhorts us to “Do all things without grumbling or
disputing.” Why? So we will be “above reproach in a crooked and perverse
generation” and a “light in the world.”
Not grumbling and complaining about the blows life deals us is a counter-cultural concept. If we can learn to be content in any circumstances, if we can accomplish our work without grumbling, if we serve without butting heads with those around us, we will be a light in the darkness, a shining ambassador for Christ, a daily testament to God’s faithfulness.
So
by God’s incomparable grace and strength, let’s live above the fray to God’s
glory. Let’s remember – it’s not about us. It’s about Him!
Today
a gentle snow falls. Large clusters of flakes tumble earthward, holding hands
and dancing to a muted tune only they can hear. It must be warmer today. I put
on my coat and head down the snow-cloaked road.
It’s
so quiet my crunchy footsteps resound irreverently across the wintry expanse. When
I reach the hilltop, I stop. A profound stillness envelops me. I strain to hear
something… anything. There’s nothing; not the rustle of crisp, brown oak
leaves, not the cheerful call of the chickadees, not a whisper from the wind.
My whole world pays silent homage to God.
Winter
harbors a deep silence, a penetrating peace that washes over my soul. I smile
contentedly. Then I hear something other-worldly, a still, small voice
whispering, “Be still, and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10) Be still, like a
calm, winter day. Welcome silence into your life. Talk less. Turn off the
useless noise inside your head. Meditate
on My Word more. Turn off the external noise from computers, televisions,
radios, and phones. Be still so you can hear Me.
Incessant
noise is a cultural curse. (Bear with me here… just venting!) Everything makes
so much noise; vehicles, appliances, tools, computers, televisions, radios,
phones. Even when people are outdoors, they often have ear buds stuck in their
ears. If that weren’t enough, much of the noise is amplified to the extreme
that many teens and adults under the age of 60 are running around with hearing
losses, many caused by churches, Christian concerts, and Christian camps who
have bought into the “loud is good” philosophy.
I
realize I’m weird, but I take issue with that. Loud really isn’t God’s modus
operandi. Not that God never does loud.
Thunder, hurricanes, tornadoes, wildfires, falling trees… all loud. They
also seem to have a common thread. All are demonstrations of God’s great might,
and sometimes His wrath and judgment. But most of His day-to-day words; words
of love, encouragement, reassurance, conviction, hope and peace, are gentle and
soft-spoken. Unlike me, God does not usually yell over the noise to get His
child’s attention.
If
we would hear God, we must be like the wind and the waves on the Sea of
Galilee. Jesus “got up and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, ‘Hush, be
still.’ And the wind died down and it became perfectly calm.” (Mark 4:39) We
must obey the voice of our Maker. We must obediently turn down the volume of
all the things screaming for our attention. We must read the Bible and listen
for the voice of the Spirit whispering to us. We must find solace in a stillness
so deep it penetrates the soul like a calm winter day.
Today, as snow-pregnant clouds begin obscuring the sun’s rays, I
watch the world outside my window lose its warm glow. Standing in stark gray
contrast to its snowy white backdrop, is our little orchard.
Last spring, I asked a friend to come over and give our fruit
trees a long-overdue pruning. She carefully considered which branches should
go, and which should stay. She thinned out the unhealthy branches, the branches
that kept air flowing freely through the trees, and the branches that crowded
or crossed other, more crucial branches.
But the pear tree was different. After trimming away the obvious,
my friend stopped. In the middle of this tree, two large branches grew together
in tight quarters. In fact, one branch rested securely in the fork of the
other.
I study those two branches for a moment. They’re so solidly
entwined, neither could go without them both suffering. Cut the forked branch,
and its neighbor would be weakened. Cut the branch without the fork, and the
forked branch would have open wounds (where the branches rub together in the
breeze), leaving it vulnerable to disease.
“Therefore I, the prisoner of the Lord, implore you to walk in a
manner worthy of the calling with which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, showing tolerance
for one another in love, being diligent to preserve the unity of the Spirit in the bond of
peace” (Ephesians 4:1-3)
Once we are part of God’s family, our lives become entwined. We
need each other for support, and to protect each other from vulnerability. We
are stronger together. That’s why God calls us to live out our walks with God
within the context of a church community.
The physical, spiritual and emotional turmoil we endure is felt by
those who walk with us through difficult days.
The joys and triumphs we enjoy, bring joy to those around us. We
weep with those who weep, and rejoice with those who rejoice. (Romans 12:15)
Like the pear tree’s branches, we’re entwined in one another’s
lives — to God’s glory.
Today we tromp through powdery snow, searching the Christmas tree
farm for the perfect evergreen to put in our house. We find one that’s not too
tall, or too plump, or too scruffy looking. We settle on a beautiful balsam fir
with sturdy branches that will hold our heavier glass ornaments
My husband lays on the ground, saw in hand, ready to begin
cutting.
“You’re sure, now? This is the tree you want? Because once I start
cutting we’re committed.”
“Yes, we’re sure.” The conviction in our voices frees my husband
to put the blade to the tree trunk and begin.
It doesn’t take long for him to saw through the trunk. The tree
topples over, sending up a spray of soft snow. We grab the branches and begin
dragging it to our car. It will look beautiful sitting in the corner of our living
room, decked out with bright lights, and shining glass ornaments, and topped
with an angel. For a time.
I’ll prop this Christmas tree up in a stand and keep it watered.
But no matter how well I care for it, the tree will slowly die. The needles
will dry up and fall off, one by one. By spring it will be brown, rather than
green. Now that it’s forever severed from its life-giving trunk, the tree will die.
And there’s no way to reunite tree and trunk, no way the tree can be
revitalized.
We are born severed from God, fallen Christmas trees cut off from
our life-giving trunk. It’s the sinful nature in us that keeps us from being
nurtured. Unlike the Christmas tree, however, we don’t have to remain cut off
from our Trunk; our Creator and Savior. We can be reunited, restored and
revitalized.
That was the whole point of one tiny baby’s birth, a birth still
remembered and celebrated 2000 years later. Christ humbled Himself and came to
earth as a baby. He walked the earth as a child, died as a young man, and rose
as a Savior – all so we could have an opportunity to find true life in His
sacrifice for our sins.
When we humble ourselves and seek God’s forgiveness for our
rebellion against His Word, His will, and His purposes, He heals the severing
wound. As we seek Him earnestly, like the three Wise Men following the star, He
nourishes us. As long as we abide in the vine, we will never dry up, never be
unfruitful, and never be separated from our life source again.
“I am the vine, you are the branches; he who abides in Me and I in
him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing.” –
John 15:5
Today
is another atypically toasty day. A warm wind whisks away the typical fall
chill. I throw my laptop and my Bible in the car and head for my favorite
hideaway. Last time I was here, watching crayfish, a high summer sun baked the
lichen-covered outcroppings and glinted off the deep green leaves. The wind
spoke soothing words of long summer days to come. Today the sun rides low in
the southern sky. Crisping leaves tell the story of impending cold, but their
showy colors soften the blow.
The
sugar maples are always first to strut their stuff. They make their seasonal
debut in deep red, rich gold, bright orange and soft peach hues. The sumacs are
dressed in their fall best with colors that graduate from gold to red, all on
one plant. The pines, in their rich green fur coats, stand in complementary
contrast to their boldly clad counterparts. Even they shed some unwanted gold
needles. The birches, poplars and oaks, however, are still sporting their green
gowns. It takes them a little longer to change out of their summer clothing,
but they’ll best dressed in their fall best soon, too.
The
oaks are another matter altogether. They’ll be the last to change color and
stubbornly cling to their dead leaves, many of them until their new leaves
sprout in the spring. Perhaps God granted them a slightly longer season because
they take so long to grow and mature.
Today
I feel like one of those green oak trees… slow to change, slow to grow. I’ve
trusted in God most of my life. He has been working diligently to make me more
Christ-like but I must confess, I haven’t always been very cooperative. Sure,
I’ve grown and changed through the years. I say less, listen more, and
understand God better. But I have so far to go. And progress seems painfully
slow. Since my lifespan is closer to a birch’s than an oak’s, it’d be great if
I could grow as fast as a birch, too!
There
are some advantages to being an oak tree, though. Oaks put down deep,
life-giving roots that help them stand through storms and fires and droughts. I
hope I’m as sturdy as an oak, able to withstand the stuff of life. Paul
exhorted the Colossians, “Therefore, as you have received Christ Jesus the
Lord, so walk in Him, having been firmly rooted and now being built up in Him
and established in your faith, just as you were instructed, and overflowing
with gratitude.” (Colossians 2:6,7)
Maybe
you’re like me – a little slow to grow but with roots in the fertile soil of
faith. I pray, by God’s mercy, our roots will hold. He will continue building us
up in Him until our dying day… still incomplete and imperfect until we stand
face to face with our Savior… and then complete only in Him. In the years
ahead, may our overflowing gratitude be evidenced by more obedience, more
submission, and more change “to the praise of the glory of His grace which He
freely bestowed on us in the Beloved.”
(Ephesians 1:6)
Today,
after the fog lifts, heavy dew covers every living, and non-living thing. An
orb-weavers web, woven in perfect symmetry, is be-jeweled with dewdrops, each a
tiny prism glinting in the rising sun. Each pine needle threatens to shed a
tiny tear. Each blade of grass is damp. Dew pools and trickles down the
granary’s metal roof. It sounds like a
slow rain dripping into the puddles below.
Before the big flood, this was God’s preferred method of watering the earth. It must have been quite a conundrum for Noah. He was supposed to build an ark to prepare for a flood which would result from rain, which had never happened before. By faith, he spent 100+ years building the gargantuan cargo carrier, believing God was serious about sending this mysterious thing called rain.
All
the while he worked, he was ridiculed by the very people he was trying to
convince to come into the ark with him. Talk about tenacity! I have a hard time
sticking with a project for several weeks. And ridicule makes me want to curl
up in a ball and cry. In the infamous words of George McFly, “I’m not sure I
could handle that kind of rejection.” (Back
to the Future) I’m glad God, the animals and humankind weren’t counting on
me to save the day. The story might have ended much differently.
I
think the same thing when I watch the movie Amazing
Grace. William Wilburforce spent most of his adult life fighting for the abolition
of slavery in Great Britain. It cost him his health, which he willingly
sacrificed to fulfill his God-ordained task. He died just three days after he’d
won the battle. But what if he’d grown weary and quit fighting? Or what if he’d
refused to take on the battle in the first place?
What if
Abraham hadn’t been willing to sacrifice Isaac? What if Joseph hadn’t been faithful
through trials? What if Moses hadn’t returned to Egypt to lead the Israelites
out? What if Joshua and Caleb hadn’t believed they could take the land of
Canaan? What if David hadn’t taken on Goliath? What if Joseph had decided
against taking Mary and Jesus to Egypt for safety? What if Jesus hadn’t died on
the cross?
In
each plot climax, the protagonist had a choice to make. Will I obey God or will
I disobey? As the storyline unfolds, it’s clear their obedience brought God’s
favor not only on them, but on those near them, and sometimes on generations to
come. Had any of them chosen disobedience, the story would read like a
Shakespearean tragedy.
Joshua
issued a challenge to the Israelite people as they entered Canaan. “If it is
disagreeable in your sight to serve the Lord, choose for yourselves today whom
you will serve: whether the gods which your fathers served beyond the River, or
the gods of the Amorites in whose land you are living; as for me and my house,
we will serve the Lord.” (Joshua 24:15)
The
challenge is ours, as well. If we chose to serve the Lord, it’s not long before
we realize it isn’t always an easy choice. Sometimes the tasks God assigns us
seem overwhelming or impossible. We want to shrink away. But obeying and
persevering are vital. Our choices may not change the course of history, but they’ll
undoubtedly change the courses of our lives.
Obedience
invites God’s blessings; on ourselves, our households, and even future generations.
Disobedience can inadvertently turn an action adventure into a tragedy. But even
then God shows His mercy. He rewrites our
tragic stories with happy endings.
Today late morning sunlight
seeps through a crevice in the clouds. It burns off the foggy residue of a
cool, fall night and highlights the heavy dewdrops clinging to every surface.
In the crook of a tree
limb, a spider web’s bejeweled strands sparkle. It’s alluring. But as beautiful
as it is, it’s a trap. The architect is probably resting somewhere nearby, just
waiting for an unwitting insect to fly by and become the evening’s entrée.
Once a bug flies into
the web, it’s stuck. It will struggle for a while, thinking it can free itself
from its thin, seemingly harmless bonds. But the sticky web will hold it in
place until the spider returns — unless something or someone intervenes.
That’s how sin works.
Satan weaves an attractive web of deceit, then settles in to watch and wait for
us to get caught in sin’s trap. The father
of lies makes the sinful choices we’re entertaining look so attractive. He
tells us our sin de jour will bring us satisfaction, and it will – for a
season. He tells us there won’t be any serious consequences, and sometimes
there aren’t – for a while. He tells us it’s only a little sin, and it is – at first.
Before long, we’re tangled
up in a sticky situation. We’ve become Satan’s prey. When we realize where our
choices have taken us, we may struggle against them; try to break the
addiction, try to avoid the pitfalls, try to deny the flesh, but the bonds that
hold us are stronger than they seem. We need a deliverer.
Praise God we have one!
Romans 8 makes it clear that all who repent of their sinful choices and put
their faith and hope in Christ’s death and resurrection have been set free from
the law of sin and death. We’ve been rescued from sin’s web by our Deliverer,
our Redeemer. We may choose to run back to sin, from time to time, but we are
no longer slaves to sin (Romans 6:7). The law of the Holy Spirit in us not only
sets us free from the law of sin and death (Romans 8:2), but makes us slaves of
righteousness (Romans 6:18).
Though we may fall into
sin’s trap – for a season, Christ in us intervenes. God sees our struggle and
empowers us to break sin’s bonds. Satan is defeated and we’re freed from the
wed of sin’s deceit.
“It was for freedom that Christ set us free;
therefore keep standing firm and do not be subject again to
a yoke of slavery.”
– Galatians 5:1
Today
a gray haze blankets the earth. Things normally clear are suddenly distorted,
obscure silhouettes of commonplace items. Oncoming cars emerge, headlights
first, from their cloudy veil. I slow down. It would be so easy to careen into
an unseen car. I creep along with an unsettling uncertainty of what to expect
ahead.
I
can’t help but think of friends who are still lost souls. They’re peering into
the future as if through a pea-soup fog. They see nothing but an impermeable
grey cloud ahead, I hear it in their voices. They live each day with an
unsettling uncertainty, consumed with worry and worn out with life’s cares or
eating, drinking and making merry because they see nothing beyond the grave.
Even as a believer, it can be difficult to grapple with my own immortality. How
much more difficult to face inevitable death without confidence in Christ. Most
of us, if we could, would slow life and time down by the sheer force of our
wills. But time marches on.
I
try to explain the gospel to my friends, as best I’m able. (I wish I could
carry Alistair Begg around in my back pocket. He explains it all so clearly.) I
try to serve them well — to be Jesus’ hands and feet in the middle of their
trials. People usually see a difference in me. I know because they comment on
it. I wish they could understand it’s not me, but Christ in me, who makes me
the person I am. Jesus is the light that shines through me. He wants to be the
set of headlights piercing through their fog, too.
When
Isaiah prophesied about God’s Son coming to earth, he said, “the people who
walk in darkness will see a great light.” (Isaiah 9:2a) Jesus proclaimed
Himself to be the Light of the World. (John 8:12) But not every person who saw
Jesus saw the light. Most just saw Jesus the teacher, the healer, the man. Only
a handful saw Jesus the Lord, the Shepherd, the Messiah. Right now, I’m afraid many
of my friends can see Jesus, but not the light.
So
I keep praying for them. I pray God will open their eyes to see Jesus as the
Light of their world. I pray they will humble themselves and pray for God’s
mercy and grace. I pray they will finally find perfect peace and rest in
Christ’s sacrifice alone.
“The steadfast of mind You
will keep in perfect peace, because he trusts in You.” (Isaiah26:3)
Today
a road trip takes me through Fifield, Wisconsin (As they’d say on Hee-Haw…
Saaaaa-lute!) Before I cross the bridge over the South Fork of the Flambeau
River, I glance at the small rustic wayside that doubles as a put-in for paddlers.
I smile at the memory playing on my mind’s movie screen.
It was a chilly May day, nearly 25 years ago, when my friend and I slipped our Old Town canoe into the cold, churning waters. The Flambeau looked like a root beer river that had worked up a good head of foam. Despite the constant drizzle, we were thrilled when the current grabbed our canoe and carried us downstream. We talked and laughed and shared our hopes and dreams. Hours later, when we reached Slough Gundy and set up camp, we were drenched. Tin foil dinners on the campfire chased the chills away and we slept soundly to the low rumble of Flambeau Falls.
The next morning, my friend had nothing to wear but her wet, clammy jeans. I couldn’t blame her when she wouldn’t put them on. Talk about an instant icicle! Out of desperation, she put on the only dry pants available… my dad’s long johns. They didn’t exactly fit. As soon as she let go, they dropped to her ankles. As former wilderness trip leaders, we knew how to improvise. We took some blue nylon rope, shaped it into something akin to a rappelling harness, and tied it as tightly as possible around her waist. It was all good — until our portage took us past two young men dressed like a page out of the latest Patagonia catalog. They gave us a quick once-over. I wish I could have been a fly on their gunnel as they headed out of earshot!
Their look was nothing compared to the look my dad gave us at the end of the trip. Somewhere between Cedar Rapids and Beaver Dam, on a stretch of river we’d both maneuvered umpteen times, we managed to swamp. Drenched took on a whole new meaning. When my dear friend stepped out at the landing, our “chauffeur” burst into uninhibited laughter. His white, waffle weave long johns were sagging to her knees, the blue rope now losing its battle to keep them up. There was nothing to do but laugh with him. It was the unexpectedly perfect ending to a great weekend.
I miss my friend. We live four states apart, distanced by miles and years of not seeing each other. But I know we could pick our friendship up again, anytime, right where we left off. Such friends are rare. They’re a true treasure. To each of them I would say, “I thank my God in all my remembrance of you, always offering prayer with joy in my every prayer for you all.” (Philippians 1:3,4)
Today’s blog is a departure from my usual theme; looking at the astounding ways our Creator reveals Himself through His creation.
Fair warning: I’m unabashedly editorializing here, voicing a passionate opinion you are welcome to disagree with. All I ask is that you give it sincere consideration.
I might get preachy. I know that’s unkosher in the Christian publishing world these days, but God’s okay with it. To quote Paul (inspired by God), “How will they hear without a preacher?” (Romans 10:14)
This is a message for the Baby Boomers and Gen Xers, especially those of us who are part of fairly large, contemporary churches. I want to be heard, so I’m not couching my words.
When we were kids, church was decidedly church. The
sanctuary was a sacred place, a place that warranted reverence. People arrived
early and sat quietly, prayerfully preparing for worship. It was a special
place to meet with God.
We sang hymns, without amplifiers. Everyone sang, because “make a joyful noise unto the Lord” (Psalm 100:1) trumped professionalism. It was corporate worship.
The whole counsel of God’s word was preached. We heard the parts that were pleasant: about God’s love and grace and mercy. We heard the parts that were unpleasant: about God’s judgment and wrath and fearsomeness. We knew following God required repentance, holy living, and sometimes suffering, not just enjoying the perks of Christ’s shed blood.
Far more importantly, our parents lived out a
sincere faith at home. They practiced what they preached. They sacrificed
material goods to teach us God is worthy of His portion. They sacrificed time
to teach us to serve others. Sometimes they sacrificed their own happiness to
teach us the importance of keeping a vow – and that God always keeps His. If
they didn’t live their faith out, we didn’t take it seriously. We walked away
from church when we left home, at least for a time.
Anyway, at some point we decided the way our parents “did church” wasn’t very appealing to us, or to outsiders. So, we started to “do church” differently, to make it more appealing.
Some good came from it, no doubt. But somewhere along the line we forgot Jesus is “a stone of stumbling and a rock of offense.” (1 Peter 2:8) The pendulum swung to the other extreme. Many of our evangelical churches are now more like entertainment venues than places of worship.
We chat in the in-house coffee shop until service has started, showing up late with coffee and donut in hand. We congregate in an auditorium, not a sanctuary, and the amplified music, performed by semi-professional musicians, drowns out the congregation’s corporate voice. There’s no sense that we’ve come to a sacred place expecting to meet with God.
We hear the nice parts of God’s Word. The hard parts are, more often than not, glossed over. The gospel is presented without a call to repentance, without a warning to count the cost. And there’s no mention of hell. While I don’t advocate scaring people into the sheepfold, I do think we should warn them about the forever torment waiting for those who reject God. Jesus did. Isn’t it rather cruel not to?
At this point we have to ask ourselves the most important question. Do we live out a sincere faith at home? Do we lead by example? Do we sacrifice material goods so God receives what He’s due? Do we sacrifice our time to serve others? Are we willing to give up our personal happiness to keep the vows we make, and so demonstrate God’s faithfulness? If not, our children won’t take this faith we claim seriously. They’ll walk away as soon as they have an opportunity, at least for a time.
Anyway, most people in our generation are content with the way we “do church.” The generations coming up behind us are not.
They aren’t looking for another entertainment venue. They want church to be church. They want worship to be worship. They want tradition and traditional music. They’re looking for truth, the whole truth. They want to be where God is reverenced. The pendulum is swinging once again.
The problem is, we aren’t paying attention. We’re
forging ahead under the misguided notion we’re giving them what they want and
need. We think we’re being relevant. Sadly, we are not. So, they’re leaving us
to get their spiritual needs met elsewhere.
Some leave church altogether. Some land in
traditional churches that have sound teaching. Some find themselves in
traditional churches that are not “correctly handling the word of truth.” (2
Timothy 2:15, NIV) We can only pray they have the discernment to know the
difference.
How do I know? We have four adult children. One walked away from church altogether, at least for the time being. Two are attending traditional churches that are very unlike the church they grew up in. The youngest is 19. We’re still waiting to see what choices she’ll make when she leaves home.
And, research bears it out. If you do a little digging online, you’ll find our family represents a nationwide trend.
So, what can we do?
There’s a simple way to address the problem. Swing with the pendulum back toward the middle. We don’t have to force our young adults to look elsewhere for a traditional church experience. We can offer it to them right where they are.
But are we willing to change? Are we, the older generation, willing to sacrifice our Sunday morning worship preferences for the spiritual well-being of those coming behind us? Will we adapt, or will they be forced to foist changes on us the way we did on our parents?
The changes younger believers seek to meet their spiritual
needs are good changes. They’re healthy for the church.
We would all benefit from more reverence, from preparing for worship, from singing more hymns that are rich in theological content. We would all benefit from deeper teaching, a better understanding of who God is in all His glory, and a solid grip on the basic tenants of the faith.
If we’ll follow their lead, the ones coming behind us have the potential to help us find a healthy spiritual balance between the undo legalism of the past and the undo liberty of the present. They could very well bring us back to the “chief end of man” and core purpose of the church, “to glorify God and enjoy Him forever.” (Westminster Shorter Catechism)
