Down a Slippery Slope

Watching Olympic skiers and snowboarders fly down their slippery slopes has been so much fun. I’m amazed at how their strength, hours of practice, and natural athleticism enable these athletes to control their speed as they whiz down the mountain-side.

Occasionally, the unthinkable happens. The athlete loses control and careens down the mountain. The consequences are devastating. After all the years of hard work, the athlete is disqualified from the event. Even worse, an out-of-control fall sometimes results in a major injury.

This afternoon I had my own encounter with a slippery slope. No, it wasn’t in the mountains. My mid-western home state has only gentle hills that closely hug the earth. No, it wasn’t on snow. While it has been a bitterly cold winter with lots of snow and ice, the past few days have been warm. Temperatures in the 40s and even 50s have melted most of the snow, so I wandered out on the nature trails. Ice lingered in the shaded spots, and the trails were wet and muddy, but I stayed on the sides of the paths, allowing the dried grass to provide a secure foothold.

One misstep is all it took. Stepping with my left foot on the gently sloping right side of the path, I felt my foot slide out from under me, and bam! I found myself in the mud. Resting on my left knee, the shin side of my right leg, and my right hand, I hurt. I wondered for a moment how long it would take my husband to find me on these meandering paths. My right wrist and leg hurt, but I quickly realized I wasn’t injured. I was able to get to my feet and continue walking. The pain lingered for a while, and the jeans would have to be laundered, but I came out no worse for the fall.

I am thankful I wasn’t injured in my fall down the slippery slope. As I continued walking, I thought about spiritual slippery slopes. Some appear mountainous, like substance abuse or infidelity. Others seem like tiny little slopes, like gossip or criticism. We all have our own slippery slopes, don’t we? A fall down any of these, whether mountainous or tiny, can be deadly.

Unfortunately, we venture onto those slippery slopes of sin and we fall. Fortunately, our God is full of grace. He is willing to gently lift us up and dust us off. He whispers, "Go, and sin no more" and sets us back on level ground.

Through the Meadow (Reprise)

Walking the nature trails, I travel across the middle of a large, open meadow, at least ¼ mile long and just as wide. Everywhere I look across this open landscape, I see the dead, dry, dun-colored native grasses. Here and there a deciduous tree dots the landscape. Winter weather has shorn them of their green garments, and their barren branches stretch nakedly toward the wintry sky. A slight breeze blows, rustling the dried grasses. My view is dull and bare.

My soul feels as dried and barren as this meadow. The enemy has frosted the joy from my heart and I hear the rustling of negativity and loss of hope.

But then I think about the creator of the meadow, the grass, and the trees. I notice the graceful lines of the barren tree branches and the lovely contrast of those dark brown limbs against the pale blue sky. I look toward the light and notice the seed heads on the dried grasses shining in the winter’s low sun. In my heart I praise God for the stark beauty of this field. Without a whimper, the enemy slinks away. He is no match for my creator.

Once again, spring blooms in my soul.

Job 33:26 “He prays to God and finds favor with him, he sees God’s face and shouts for joy; he is restored by God to his righteous state.”

Shattering the Ice

Half full? Or half empty? How we view our glass of life changes our perspectives. I tend to be a glass-half-full person. I keep a joyful attitude by focusing on what I have, rather than what I don’t have. When I view the glass as half empty, however, the results are disastrous.

When a winter storm battered my community, I tossed and turned all night, hearing the freezing rain and sleet drumming on the roof and windows. I worried about the slippery roads I’d have to maneuver on my commute to work at the local high school. Finally, unable to sleep, I got up in the pre-dawn dark to watch the weather on television. I hoped school would be cancelled so I could stay home safe, warm, and able to sleep. Watching, I learned an inch of ice and sleet had fallen. Travel was treacherous. When I looked out the window, I saw the street glistening from its icy coating. I saw danger and a half empty glass.

The alphabetized list of school closings appeared on the television. Anxiously, I watched it scroll across the bottom, waiting for “Wichita” to appear: Andover, Augusta, Derby, Goddard, Haysville, Maize, Pratt, Valley Center, Wellington…. No “Wichita”! Every school district was closed except one, mine! I huffed about, upset that I had to venture out in the dangerous weather. I couldn’t see one drop of joy in my glass.

Anger bubbled as I anticipated the icy drive. Why had our superintendent decided to keep school open? Along with anger, I worried: getting safely to school, students driving on ice, scraping a one-inch layer of ice off my car, and driving 15 miles home in rush hour traffic.

Driving on the slippery streets, I gripped the steering wheel and prayed my car would stay on the road. After a forty-five minute commute, instead of the usual 15, I walked gingerly across the ice-covered parking lot, grumbling to myself.

When the bell rang, only one third of my students were present. School was in session, but little was accomplished because so few attended. Not a drop covered the bottom of my glass. Frustrated and tired, I fretted and complained. After school, I left early to beat the afternoon traffic. Still grumbling and complaining, I scraped windows in the bitter cold. As I pulled out of the parking lot, however, my attitude changed. At last, I began to see my glass full.

 

The low winter, late afternoon sun shone through the ice-covered world, changing the landscape into a magical fairyland. The dried winter grasses sparkled in the sun. The squares of ice-coated wire on the roadside fences glimmered and gleamed. The trees sparkled like huge crystal sculptures. Everything danced with light. Finally, I focused on what filled my glass. I forgot my frustrations and complaints as I viewed this breathtakingly beautiful world! All I could do was thank God and marvel at His winter beauty.

My spirits lifted and I rejoiced in the crystal world. I thought how my glass-half-empty, whiny attitude had clouded the entire day. With the light dancing on the ice, I drove home, thankful for so much: a good job, a warm house, a reliable car, and a God who opens my eyes to see beauty in every situation. His light shone through my grumbling, complaining attitude, letting me rejoice in the half-full glass. Joy shattered my complaints like ice crystals breaking off the tree branches.

 

Mr. B's Records

Let me introduce you to an acquaintance of mine, Beelzebub, Mr. B. for short. Mr. B. is an accountant. He keeps the ledger for souls, yours and mine. He records every selfless, honorable act we’ve ever done, as well as every selfish, unkind word or act ever committed.. With great relish, he keeps track of our words and deeds. Let me take you to his office where we can watch him work with his latest client, Mr. Everyman, or Mr. E.

As the door creaks open, we see Mr. B. seated behind a huge, highly polished wooden desk. He sits in his black leather chair, leaning toward Mr. E., who fidgets in his chair. Wide open on the desk lies a gigantic ledger, its pages opened to the E’s.

“Ah, friend,” Mr. B. exclaims, “I see you shoveled snow for the elderly widow next door. That earns a plus sign on your soul’s ledger.”

Mr. E. shifts and smiles tentatively, his chest rising slightly with pride in his good deed. A sly smile creeps over Mr. B’s face and his eyes glitter. “But,” he exclaims triumphantly, “You failed to shovel last month, you only mowed her yard three times last summer, and you rarely visit her. That comes to four positive marks, and…let me see…20 negative marks. That makes your overall score negative 16.”

Mr. E’s shoulders visibly slump, and his eyes drop to the tops of his shoes. “But I thought….”

“You thought!” interrupted Mr. B. “Let me remind you that I am the bookkeeper. You are definitely in the red. You must try harder!”

“Yes, sir,” Mr. E. mumbles, “I will try harder.” He stands, turns, and shuffles out the door.

 As it closes, Mr. B. chuckles. “What a loser! He’ll be mine soon. He’ll pay for what he owes!”

Many years later, Mr. E. once again enters Mr. B’s office. He is now elderly, yet he walks with a straight back and holds his chin high. Mr. E. sits in the guest chair and looks at Mr. B. Once again, the huge ledger lies open. “Well, well, well,” Mr. B. says, examining the ledger. “You have done many good deeds since we last met.  Feeding the hungry…giving to the poor…volunteering at your local school…. Well, you’ve earned several hundred positive points. “Now for the negative…you lost your temper…said a few bad words…harbored a grudge…didn’t forgive your neighbor…Hmm, it seems you have far more than one hundred negative points. You have a negative three hundred and sixty-three. Since your time on earth is nearing its completion, it appears you owe me. But don’t worry, you have all eternity to pay off this debt.” As Mr. B. looks up from his ledger, a broad smile covers his face, but doesn’t reach his eyes.

Mr. E. sits straight in his chair, a slight smile playing about his lips. He shifts his weight and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small piece of paper. “I believe you have made a mistake,” he says.

“What! How dare you question my bookkeeping!” shouts Mr. B. He jumps up and lunges over the desk toward Mr. E., glaring at him. “You are mine; there is no mistake!”

“Oh, but there is a mistake. You see, I have a receipt. Here is a copy of it.” He hands the small slip of paper to Mr. B.

“Impossible!” sputters Mr. B. “You owe me!”

“You are mistaken.” Mr. E. speaks quietly and calmly. “My debt was paid by one who left a heavenly home to live on earth. He willingly died a painful death to erase my debt. If you don’t believe me, look at your book.”

Mr. B. glances at his carefully written ledger. His face turns red as he stares at the “E” page. Right before his eyes, every mark against Mr. E. slowly disappears.

“See,” said Mr. E., “My ledger is clean. I owe you nothing. My soul is free of debt.”

Mr. B looks at the little piece of paper in his hand and reads: “Mr. E.’s debt—PAID IN FULL. Signed, Jesus Christ."

 

 

 

The Unopened Gift (reprise)

Remember the last time you received a gift-wrapped package from someone?  Picture the box, wrapped in iridescent white paper, and tied with a beautiful bow. When you were handed this gift, what did you do?  Did you open it immediately, eager to see what was inside?  Did you want to personally thank the one who gave you such a gift?  I suspect that most would open the gift right away so the giver of the gift could see the pleasure on your face as you received this present. But did you ever take a beautifully gift-wrapped package, put it on a shelf or in the closet, and leave it there unopened?  I can’t imagine doing such a thing, can you?

If you gave a gift to a loved one, would you be offended if that person never opened it?  Would it bother you if you paid a good deal of money to purchase this gift, only to have it sit, unopened, on the shelf?  Or what if you hand-made a gift, and spent countless hours laboring, in love, to create something special?  Would you be upset if the recipient of this gift didn’t even open it?

The one who longs to give us good gifts is God, your heavenly father. We are quickly able to receive His gifts of love and peace. We may at times neglect to use these gifts, but we have opened them and have expressed our gratitude to God for His generosity.

 

There is one gift from God, however, that we often find difficult to open:  the gift of forgiveness. Psalm 86:5 (NKJ) says, “For You, Lord, are good, and ready to forgive, and abundant in mercy to all those who call upon You.”  Unfortunately, many of us believe that our sins are just too terrible, so we cling to them. We know God forgives sins, but He surely won’t forgive this?   We just can’t force ourselves to untie the bow and tear open the paper to receive the gift of forgiveness. Sometimes the problem is that we can’t forgive ourselves. “How could I have ever done that horrible thing?” we might wonder, and the beautifully wrapped package stays on the shelf, untouched.

God paid a great deal to give each of us this gift of forgiveness. He spent a great deal of time laboring on this gift as well, thirty-three years, as a matter of fact. For thirty-three years God’s son lived as a man on this earth, away from His home in heaven. That’s a long time to work on a gift of love. And He paid a high cost for this gift, too: He paid with His life. Don’t you think He would want us to open this gift?

 

Father God, forgive me Forgive my many sins, both those I have recently committed and those of long ago that I harbor in my heart. Help me accept Your gift, wrapped in love and the sacrifice of Your son. Help me take it off the shelf, unwrap it and accept the forgiveness inside.

I John 1: 8-9 “If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.”

 

Hear the Crying

Imagine if you will, Christmas day, more than 2000 years ago in the village of Bethlehem. Do you feel the crisp early morning air?  Do you smell the animals and the hay?  Listen.  Do you hear the newborn crying?  Can you see Mary, seated on the floor of the stable, holding her tiny son?  Can you see her rock back and forth, back and forth to quiet her tiny babe?

 

Now let your imagination fast-forward thirty years to a barren land.  Do you hear the voice of John the Baptist crying out in the wilderness?  “Make straight the way for the Lord,” he calls to any who will listen.  Now that the crying baby is grown, his cousin John cries for the repentance of his people.

 

Think forward again, three more years.  This time it is the mother of Jesus who cries.  She kneels and weeps at the foot of a rugged Roman cross.  High above her is the broken body of her baby boy.  The tiny babe is grown and men have nailed him on this cross.  She cries for her suffering, dying son.

 

Imagine three days later.  Now those bitter tears and agonizing cries have turned to miraculous cries of joy.  The son who was crucified on a cross is no longer in the tomb.  He is alive!

 

Once again, let your mind move ahead, many years.  Zoom in your imagination the last few weeks.  Think about your preparations for Christmas.  Did you spend many exhausting hours shopping, wrapping, cooking, cleaning, and baking?  Did you cry in anger, frustration, or fatigue? 

 

Remember, the babe who cried in the manger is the same Lord who died on the cross.  He died, was resurrected, and is alive.  He is the same Lord who takes away our sins so that we, too, may live with Him forever in heaven. 

 

Once again, we hear crying, the crying of our hearts.  We cry, remembering our sins.  We cry in repentance, preparing our hearts for His coming in our lives.  We cry in grief, remembering His sacrifice.  We cry in joy, recognizing His resurrected life in us and anticipating eternity.  We cry tears of delight, for we realize that even though all the shopping and wrapping are not yet finished, we are, finally, truly ready for Christmas.

 

Father, may we never overlook the reason for the celebration.  In all the busyness and scurrying, let us remember and reflect on the miracle of our Lord’s birth in a lowly stable.  May we consider our Lord’s sacrifice.  Let us cry tears of repentance and gratefulness, remembering the greatest Christmas gift.  We have worked hard preparing to celebrate Christmas. May we work just as hard to prepare for His birth and life in our hearts.  May this precious new life within us cry out joyfully for all to hear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

First Kiss

Frost has kissed the forest.  Many of the leaves and grasses have succumbed to its deadly touch. Yellow and brown leaves flutter from the trees. The stream is littered with autumn’s golden snowfall. As I wander off the soft, sandy trail, my feet crunch noisily through the leafy debris.  Looking up, I see many of the trees lifting dark, barren branches skyward. Others sport a few green and yellow leaves, but these too are destined to drop to the forest floor.

It’s silent here. No birds call. No animals chatter to their mates. High above in the treetops the wind blows, rustling the remaining leaves. The rustling soon grows to a roar as the wind rushes past barren branches. So much around me seems dead, lifeless. Yet, I know the forest lives.  As I walk I hear rustling in the dead leaves and know small animals run and hide from this human invading their territory. I stop a moment at the stream, listening to the rushing waters bouncing over the rocks. The sound soothes my soul.  I look at the brown grass and the barren trees around the stream and I imagine their roots digging deep into the soil. Above the soil they appear dead, yet their roots continue to draw nourishment into the living plants.

So it is with my soul. At times it becomes brown and looks lifeless. Life is difficult, and I struggle from an unresponsive spirit and lack of enthusiasm. But then I go to a still place and listen. Just like the wind rushes through the trees, God’s voice rushes through my soul, giving me peace. I listen. I learn. I allow the roots of my soul to draw up spiritual nourishment. I rejoice, waiting patiently for that first green blush of spring to sprout in my soul.

Psalm 30:5b NIV “Weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.”