WALKING BUDDIES: Part 14 - Walking Sacrifically - September 27, 2008

“Take your son, your only son, Isaac, whom you love,
…and sacrifice him… as a burnt offering…”
Genesis 22:2 NIV

“Lord, I really don’t want to write about sacrifice and I don’t think my readers are eager to visit this topic either. So how about we” …

“No, really Lord, the timing is just awful. Sacrifice is a downer topic—not a good way to start a weekend, so let’s talk about” …

“You’re not going to give up, are you, God. Gee, you’re stubborn.” … “I’m sorry—I meant tenacious, and that’s a very good quality.” …

Oh, all right, I’ll sacrifice my wishes and write about sacrifice.”

There’s something threatening about the word “sacrifice” that causes my heart rate to go up and makes my muscles tighten. God’s walking buddies in Biblical times make big sacrifices for their faith. That’s not a journey I want to take. I want to hide from God when he’s looking for a sacrificial lamb.

One leg of Abraham’s journey involved a call to sacrifice—a test of his faith, really:

GOD: "Abraham!"

ABRAHAM: "Here I am."

GOD: "Take your son, your only son, Isaac, whom you love, and go to the region of Moriah. Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains I will tell you about."

I don’t know about you, but I find this quite disturbing. What kind of God would ask a loving parent to sacrifice their child? Wasn’t this a pagan practice? Wasn’t Jehovah, the God of the Hebrews—his chosen people—different?

Did Abraham ask such questions? Did he resist God’s instructions? The Biblical account only tells us Abraham’s actions:

“Early the next morning Abraham got up…” and “took with him two of his servants and his son Isaac…” and “set out for the place God had told him about.”

Evidently, if Abraham did question God, he came to a place of obedience overnight. What was Abraham thinking and feeling during the three day journey to Moriah? I would have been an emotional mess. When this little group arrived at the mountain, Abraham and Isaac continued on alone:

ISAAC: “Father?”

ABRAHAM: “Yes, my son?”

ISAAC: “The fire and the wood are here, but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?”

ABRAHAM: “God himself will provide the lamb for the burnt offering, my son.”

Did Abraham lie to his son? Was Abraham protecting his son from the truth as long as he could? Was he simply unable to utter the appalling words? I don’t think I could say, “Son, you’re the sacrifice—you are the lamb.”

When they arrived at the place God had told Abraham about, he built an altar, bound Isaac, placed him on the altar, and raised his knife…

ANGEL OF THE LORD: "Abraham! Abraham!”

ABRAHAM: “Here I am.”

ANGEL: "Do not lay a hand on the boy. Do no do anything to him. Now I know that you fear God, because you have not withheld from me your son, your only son.”

ABRAHAM: You mean to tell me that this was a TEST? You never intended for me to slay my son? How cruel! How could you put me and my son—my only son—through such agony?

This last response is what I imagine I would say. Abraham, however, took the ram that God provided and made his burnt offering. And then he named that place, “The Lord Will Provide.” He focused on God’s provision and promise, not on his pain.

What is God calling you to sacrifice? You may be experiencing difficulties with your child (or spouse or friend…) that seem impossible to solve and you are called to practice tough love and let go. Or maybe you’re clinging to a bad attitude, habit, or addiction. Maybe you nurse resentments, bitterness, hurts, the need to be right…

What—or who—is your Isaac? Abraham invites you to the altar where, “The Lord Will Provide,” and encourages you with his example to lay your Isaac down. Scary? You bet. Possible? Yes. Worth it? Absolutely!

FYI: The metaphor of laying down one’s Isaac is inspired by a song written by Bonnie Keen entitled, “Isaac.”

WALKING BUDDIES: Part 10 - Canine Companions - August 31, 2008

“Ask where the good way is, and walk in it.”

Jeremiah 6:16

I’m a dog lover, to the very marrow of my bones. I can’t imagine life without my four-footed walking buddies. Together, we’ve traipsed through fields, tromped through the woods, meandered along streams, and wandered up and down lakeshores. I bubble over with joy as I watch my buddies explore new territory with wild abandon.

Let me tell you about my walking buddies and what I’ve learned from each of them about walking with God:

· Muffin, a fluffy, blonde Cock-a-poo-Pom-pet-store-pooch: Once while Muffy was secured on a chain in the yard, a little girl stopped by and asked, “Does that puppy belong to anyone?” Yes, she was that cute! Muffin camped, hiked and boated with us all over Indiana and Michigan’s Upper Peninsula She especially loved to romp in the snow. Like Muffin, I love to cavort and play with God.

· Midnight, a silky, cocker spaniel/Scotty: a freebie from a frazzled friend, who—after several sleepless nights—decided she was not up to raising a puppy. Midnight was a complexity of sweetness and stubbornness. A poor excuse for a walking companion, Midnight walked whenever and wherever she pleased (usually on the lam). At times, I’m as stubborn as Midnight is black. I run off, returning to God only when I’m good n’ ready.

· Trixie, a shy, dainty, red head with white tipped paws and chest—A Humane Society Heinz 57: After we adopted Trixie, a friend exclaimed, “Hey, I know that dog! She used to hang around the ball field near 10th St. School. She’d role over and beg to have her belly rubbed.” Yep. That’s Tummy-Rub Trixie, all right. After being a stray, free to roam at will, she adapted quickly to walking on a leash. Sometimes I am open to God’s affection, like Trixie, hanging around the park, eager for a belly rub.

· “A female, 100% housebroken, golden/Labrador retriever”: During high school, our daughter, Beth, wanted a big dog to run with. Dad did not want another dog, so he set stringent specifications, thinking Beth would never find a dog with such qualifications. We name her Panda—located via the Indianapolis Trader by a not-to-be-outwitted teen. I can’t live up to God’s expectations, but He promised to adopt me anyway—just as Rex kept his word to Beth, adopting that 100% housebroken Trader pup.

I’m a lot like a Leader Dog puppy, too:

· Leader Dog puppy #1: Grace, a rambunctious yellow Labrador retriever with a nose for trouble. Like Midnight, Grace had a stubborn streak, but, amazingly, she graduated from her training at Leader Dogs for the Blind and lives and works in Costa Rica. As with Grace, I have a nose for trouble, but I can shape up and walk straight.

· Leader Dog puppy #2: Hope, a sweet, shy and compliant golden retriever. Leader Dogs for the Blind released Hope from the program late in her training for being shy, nervous and more a follower than a leader. We jumped at the opportunity to adopt her as a pet. This fall, Hope and I will work on certification as a therapy dog/handler team so we can visit schools and health care facilities. I’m a lot like Hope, more of a follower than a leader. My primary calling is to stay close to home and love my family.

· Leader Dog puppy #3: Faith, an affectionate and assertive golden retriever. Near the tail end of her formal training, Leader Dogs released Faith from the program due to kennel stress. We adopted Faith with the intention of finding her a home where she can utilize her training. On September 22nd, Faith will fly to Colorado to join Canine Partners of the Rockies where she will be trained to work with a person with mobility challenges. I sometimes fall short of a goal, but like Faith, I am teachable and full of potential to cross-train and serve in other ways.

Is it true that dogs resemble their masters (or is it that masters resemble their dogs)? I certainly aspire to resemble my Master. How ‘bout you?

“Walk humbly with your God.”

Micah 6:8

WALKING BUDDIES: Part 9 - Creeping & Crawling - August 23, 2008

I’m itching to write about my grandbaby. My little guy is not walking quite yet, so how do I work him into this series? Aha! Before we can walk, we first must crawl.

Every person on this planet—except, perhaps, Adam and Eve—crawls on their belly, and hands and knees before walking upright. As I read Genesis, it sounds as if Adam and Eve were created as physically mature adults. Were they intellectually and spiritually mature as well?
Just imagine: no brush burns on your tummy and knees, no boo boos from falling down or stumbling into things, no swats for touching no-nos. They had it easy, but blew their unfair advantage, and made life difficult for everyone.

I take care of my grandson one day a week and so have the opportunity to watch Evan’s progression from helpless infant to soon-to-be toddler. Like most babies, Evan’s curiosity is boundless and fuels his constant motion. I erect barriers with furniture and pillows and when he is unable to circumnavigate or climb over them, he screams in protest.

When set free to explore, Evan scoots across the hardwood floors like a swimmer sprinting across a pool. While he is quite capable of crawling on his hands and knees, Evan prefers to scoot, pulling himself forward with his arms. The main advantage of this mode of travel is the ease of flipping himself around quickly to head off in a different direction. As he swooshes around, he reminds me of a duck on water, turning this way and that, creating nary a ripple.

Evan has his sights set on all things outside his reach. He’ll climb a pile of pillows on the sofa, just to see what’s going on outside or to gain a more advantageous vantage point of his environs. He grunts and groans as he exerts himself, but nothing stops the kid. Up, up, up he goes. If I’m holding him on my lap or in my arms, he is compelled to break loose and creep up my torso. If I didn’t have a firm grasp, he’d plummet headlong over the summit of my shoulder.

Remember those old Popeye cartoons in which Sweet Pea would climb out onto a flagpole, or some other equally perilous place? Popeye would down a can of spinach and dash to the infant’s rescue. Well, Evan is my Sweet Pea. His daddy, Matt, did little crawling and took to his feet at nine months of age. He got himself into some heart-stopping situations in which I assumed the role of Popeye (I relied on adrenalin rather than spinach). Just thinking about Matt’s precocity still makes me shudder and I pray that Evan will not follow in his daddy’s fearless footsteps.

Spiritually, when we were infants, God cradled us in his arms, infusing us with his palpable love. When we were toddlers, God held our hands and provided boundaries and caregivers to keep us safe. Throughout childhood, our spiritual caregivers introduced us to the Bible, schooled us in the Ten Commandments, and, hopefully, taught us about God’s love and grace. During our adolescence, God provided priests and prophets (aka, parents, pastors, Sunday school teachers, etc.) to guide and direct our spiritual growth.

And, throughout our adulthood, God continues to cradle us when we’re confused; hold our hands and provide boundaries when we act immaturely; deepen our understand of his Word; and provide spiritual mentors and walking buddies when we are rebellious, or get in over our heads by acting without thinking. We are never completely spiritually mature, but God meets us where we are.

In many ways, I will always be a crawler, creeping along at a snail’s pace, slow to learn and hesitant to trust in God. Even so, my Heavenly Walking Buddy has eyes in the back of his head, and he has my back. Oh, he let’s me take my spills from time to time, but always—always—he calls me to grow and heal, and survive and thrive spiritually. His arms are wide open, whether I sprint or crawl in his grace.

“I am with you always.”

Matthew 28:20 NIV

WALKING BUDDIES: Part 4 - Feminine Footfalls - July 19, 2008

And Noah and his [family] entered

the ark to escape the waters of the flood.
Genesis 7:7

I’m enough of a feminist* that it rankles me how females are noticeably absent from the Bible. In the story of the flood, Noah and each of his sons are mentioned by name; Noah’s wife and daughters-in-law are each referred to as “so-and-so’s wife.” Even the female animals get equal billing with their male counterparts (“…bring into the ark two of all living creatures, male and female.” Genesis 6:19).

“It takes two,” and without Eve, Adam was just a guy with a set of intact ribs. So, as a Christian feminist, it behooves me to give voice to the women who played an equal part in repopulating the earth after the flood. Men weren’t the only ones walkin’ with God inside that stinky ark. Just for fun, I will assign some names: Natalie (husband, Noah), Sheila (husband, Shem), Heidi (husband, Ham), and Jennifer (husband, Japheth).

Natalie, the writer in the family, kept a journal, which was revealed to me while I was meditating in my hammock swing. Nat’s log is quite lengthy, but these few excerpts provide an inside peek at life in ark.

Minus 7 days, and counting: Well, just as Noah said, there’s a steady flow of animals meandering our way. I thought Noah was daft when he told me that God prophesied, “If you build it, they will come.” Call me a skeptic, but I can’t imagine how we’ll squeeze all those critters into this boat. And there’s no way those huge hippo hips will fit through the doorway.

Minus 3 days: Noah is an excellent architect and carpenter, but he’s inept at organizing this menagerie. So I’ve stepped in. I assigned Sheila and Shem to the third deck to manage the aviary. There’s not much head room up there, so the ostriches will have to bunk with the giraffes and camels. Heidi and Ham volunteered for the lower deck, our “sea on the sea” for the sea creatures. And Jenny and Japh will manage the mammals on the main deck. Noah and I don’t sleep too well, so we’re supervising the night owls, critters like owls, bats, tree frogs and those cute little masked creatures with the ringed tails.

Minus 1 day: Frightened by the ominous sky and thunder, our friends, family, and neighbors are pleading with Noah to let them on the ark. We’ve known them all our lives. How can he turn them away? My heart is breaking. The animals still waiting to board are getting restless—frantic, really. The chaos and cacophony are turning me inside out. Lord, help us all!

February 17th* Lockdown: It’s raining cats and dogs! This morning, a jumpy giraffe jostled me aside in its hurry to enter the ark. Slipping on the wet deck, I banged my elbow on the rough hewn door jam. It is dark as pitch in here! I labor to breathe in this heavy air, laced with Eau de Dung (with just a hint of hay, sweat and rain). Oh, Lord! I just discovered I’m claustrophobic. Don’t shut the door! Let me out of h-e-r-e.

Day 3: I just can’t stop thinking about all my family and friends. The sky is so noisy and sounds angry. Is that the voice of God? I hate being cooped up in this, this…dark, dank, disgusting, oversized dingy. Yet, I have a feeling that even this is better than whatever is going on outside. I shudder to think about it.

Day 31: My head is pounding and I just can’t focus with all this lowing, barking, screeching (oh, that awful screeching!), roaring, and growling. And my boys are bickering. Grown men, fighting. Who cares whose turn it is—just DO IT, for Adams’s sake.

Day 40: An eerie sound woke me with a start from a sound sleep. Silence? The drill and drone of rain drops on the roof and deck has stopped. It’s funny, after so many days I no longer noticed the rain—until it stopped.

To be continued…

* Poetic license: Bible states, “seventeenth day of the second month”

WALKING BUDDIES: Part 1 - “Barefoot in the Park” - June 29, 2008

Then the man and his wife heard the sound of the Lord God
as he was walking in the garden in the cool of the day.
Genesis 3:8 NIV

As a child, I rarely wore shoes, unless social expectations required it of me. I had my saddle shoes for school, shiny, black, patent leather church shoes, and well worn, dirty Keds for play, all of which I kicked off whenever I could. “Going barefoot is the gentlest way of walking and can symbolize a way of living—being authentic, vulnerable, sensitive to our surroundings,” states Adele Coombs, author of Barefoot Dreaming

I wonder what our Heavenly Father’s footsteps sounded like to Adam and Eve when they heard him approaching, in the cool of the day. And I wonder what our great-great-greats’ footsteps sounded like to God. I bet God could hear Adam running swiftly, and Eve skipping playfully, toward him, in eager anticipation of a daily hike with their divine Walking Buddy. After they disobeyed God, did Adam and Eve tiptoe around, walking on eggshells, trying to avoid him?

Imagine having actually walked with God on a daily basis, and then losing this privilege. The concept of “walking with God” permeates the Biblical record, threading its way through the Old and New Testaments, like a well worn, familiar trail. In the Garden of Eden, and again when Jesus walked the earth, human beings were blessed with face to face encounters with God. For most of us, though, our walking with God is metaphorical in nature.

As I have mentioned many times, I feel closest to God when I am surrounded by lofty trees, birdsong and the heady fragrance of moist earth. Many of my writer-walking buddies recognize and experience the holiness and healing power of walking:

“I think that I cannot preserve my health and spirits,” said Henry David Thoreau, “ unless I spend four hours a day at least, sauntering through the woods and over the hills and field.”

Raymond Inmon advises, “if you are seeking creative ideas, go out walking. Angels whisper to a man when he goes for a walk.”

“In the woods we return to reason and faith,” mused Ralph Waldo Emerson.

And my very favorite quote comes from Joseph Campbell: “God is the experience of looking at a tree and saying, ‘Ah!’”

These nature lovers “see” God in nature. While I believe that nature provides sacred space in which to encounter God, I also believe that God willingly walks with us wherever we are. When we’re caught up in the rat race of life, God is there jogging beside us. When we are wearily lugging groceries out to the parking lot, our minds a million miles away, worrying about this and that, God is there, pushing the shopping cart with its squeaky, wobbly wheels. When we’re pacing the halls of the hospital as a loved one undergoes surgery, he is there. Whether you’re hobbling or hoofing it; mucking or gadding about; knock-kneed or pigeon-toed; limping or leaping; barefoot or booted; taking your very first step or have one foot in the grave, God is right there with you.

I think it was God’s intent for us to live a barefooted life—a life of pure authenticity, shameless vulnerability and exquisite sensitivity, like that referred to above by Adele Coombs. We were created to live in God’s presence, naked and unashamed, to walk shoulder to shoulder with none other than God. Wow!

The very first thing we learn about God from the Bible is that he is THE creator. The author of Genesis takes great care in detailing all that God fashioned. He created flora and fauna, rivers and mountains, not air conditioned buildings, with windows from which to view his creation. Perhaps this is why I go to the woods to hang out with my Walking Buddy. While I don’t go barefooted on these treks, I do think my walks with God give me a delicious taste of living a spiritually barefooted life.

Someday, we will know the joy of face to face intimacy with God, known heretofore only in Eden. How heavenly that will be!

For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face.

1 Corinthians 13:12 NIV