Deuteronomy 6:13-15 (New International Version)

Aren’t you so glad that we aren’t like those crazy Israelites in the Old Testament? I know for a fact that there is no chance that we would ever be found bowing to a golden cow, or a pig, or really any kind of hand crafted idol.  Give those Israelites five minutes of time to tinker, and it seemed like somehow an altar was built and a foreign god was worshiped. God got a bargain with us.  No need for him to repeat all this business about “other gods” where we’re concerned.

We’d never be so easily deceived.  By a golden cow.

But what if it was a god that looked and sounded much like the God who has been proven, yet with just the slightest of adjustment?    I would submit that a good many people who claim to worship “God” are actually worshiping a god created in the image of both man and God.  He is a god who conforms in so many ways to the notions of modern man, be it in the way of women’s rights, global warming, or absolute evil of war.  He is easier to understand because he approaches this world in the way man would. This god is presented beautifully in “The Shack”.

After very careful consideration, I have chosen to focus on only one statement made by the “Jesus” of “The Shack” in a conversation with Mack, the main character.  I think that I could use any one of several, but isn’t it true that one lie is enough to ruin it for proper instruction as to God’s person?

“Remember, the people who know me are the ones who are free to live and love without any agenda.”

“Is that what it means to be a Christian?”  It sounded kind of stupid as Mack said it, but it was how he was trying to sum everything up in his mind.

“Who said anything about being a Christian?  I’m not a Christian.”

The idea struck Mack as odd and unexpected and he couldn’t keep himself from grinning.  No, I suppose you aren’t.”

They arrived at the door of the workshop.  Again Jesus stopped.  “Those who love me come from every system that exists.  They were Buddhists or Mormons, Baptists or Muslims, Democrats, Republicans and many who don’t vote or are not part of any Sunday morning or religious institutions.  I have followers who were murderers and many who were self righteous.  Some are bankers and bookies, Americans and Iraqis, Jews and Palestinians.  I have no desire to make them Christian, but I do want to join them in their transformation into sons and daughters of my Papa, into my brothers and sisters, into my Beloved.” (p. 181-182)

So, it turns out that Jesus is not interested in us becoming Christians.  He is not a Christian.  Why would we want to bear a name He doesn’t bear?

The name “Christian”, meaning simply, “follower of Christ”, was first given to the disciples at Antioch.  This is recorded in Acts 11:25-27.  Christian is a Biblical term, not something contrived by people who create religious terms to make sense of things unclear.

I believe that Jesus, the Jesus of the Bible, made clear his intentions.

Mt 28:18 Then Jesus came to them and said, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.
Mt 28:19 Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,
Mt 28:20 and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”

We are to obey everything He has commanded us.  We are to follow Him.  We are to be Christian.

What harm is a little lie?

Ask Eve.

“Did God really say that you would die if you ate of this fruit?  You won’t die.”

Some of you rightly called this book a piece of fiction which should be handled as such.  I completely agree.  The problem is that this piece of fiction is being peddled from pulpits as being “inspired” fiction to the hands of people who would rather have their ears tickled by all things lovely and magical instead of solid Truth.  The problem is that the god of “The Shack” is becoming the god of many who have no clue they have eaten the cake.

My final thought on “The Shack” is that you can read it if you want to.  I don’t think it is necessary to show you any side of God that is not revealed in His Word.  If there is any new “truth” about God revealed to you in “The Shack”, I deeply implore you to test it against the Word.  And I encourage you to avoid the urgings of the publisher to purchase more copies for your friends and family. They’ll just have to settle for a plain ol’ Bible.

(Throughout this post, there are links to articles that will fill in some of the blanks I know I leave.  I have written this post based on the idea that most of you have heard something about this book and the many debates it has sparked.  Because I assume you to have a general knowledge of this book, I have skipped a rundown of the story and characters and jumped right into my thoughts on the work.  Please follow the links to read others’ thoughts and to get more details about this book.)

Just under a month ago, I was talking to a friend who said that he felt guilty because he didn’t read his Bible enough.  Another friend of ours, with great intentions, comforted him by saying, “God doesn’t care if you read your Bible.  He wants your heart”.  I somewhat disagreed, but kept silent.

The next week at church services, I was approached again by that first friend saying, “Have you read ‘The Shack‘?  I finished it in two days.  You have to read it.  It will totally explain God to you.”

It struck me as important that someone who had a hard time making time for Bible study could find it so easy to read this book in two days.  And, it explained God to him when the Bible couldn’t?  I made the immediate mental note to research Google this book.

“The Shack” was written by one man, William P. Young, and then gone over many times over for theological accuracy by about five other men.  This, according to Wayne Jacobson who was one of those men.  In his defense of “The Shack”, he says,

“Just because we didn’t put Scriptural addresses with their numbers and colons at every allusion in the story, does not mean that the Bible isn’t the key source in virtually every conversation Mack has with God.  Scriptural teachings and references appear on almost every page. They are reworded in ways to be relevant to those reading the story, but at every point we sought to be true to the way God has revealed himself in the Bible except for the literary characterizations that move the story forward.  At its core the book is one long Bible study as Mack seeks to resolve his anger at God.”

If you have a copy of this book, you will find on the back pages a call to help put copies of this book in the hands of every person you know.  The call comes from people who say they have “been touched by ‘The Shack’ [and] are convinced this book deserves a reading across the broadest reaches of our culture”.  So far, it’s working.  Since June 8 of this year, the little self published book that could has been on New York Times best seller list.

Since it was hailed by one of its contributors as “one long Bible study” and because my friend ate the whole thing on a Biblically empty stomach, I wanted to read it.  Jesus tells us in John 10:27, “My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me.”  Would I hear my Shepherd in “The Shack”?  Or would I hear the Deceiver, manipulating my Shepherd’s words?

Some time ago Eric and I watched an interview with a woman who had authored a fictional story about vampires.  She said that she was getting some heat from vampire enthusiasts because her vampires did not act like vampires act historically.  Her very valid point was that vampires were fictional characters and she had the freedom to make them do and say whatever it is she chooses.

She was right.  William P. Young and company are wrong.  God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit are NOT fictional characters.  The Bible is not subject matter that can be adjusted to fit what we think or feel it should.

I do not feel it necessary to present the fallacy of “The Shack” in order to defend God’s name against damage, His name will in no way be tarnished by falsehood.  The damage that is done by books like this is to the sheep who still live on milk.  Those who lump Bible study in with any number of things that are good for you but just too difficult to keep up with.

I will not debate whether or not some of this book is dead on accurate in its portrayal of the heart of God.  In fact, I believe that the bulk of its accuracy is the most dangerous thing about it.  Like the cake I made for you, it is made with some of the finest of possible ingredients, but it’s the little bit of Anthrax that’ll kill you where you sit.

Tomorrow, I will post the passages from the book that look like poison and we will talk a little bit about whether or not this book makes enough valid points to make it a worthwhile read for any who may be searching for answers, like my friend.

(I decided this had to be a two parter.  Did you see how long it already is?)

Watch your step- I’m about to name drop.

I happen to be able to count children’s author Jane Bauld among my dear friends. She wrote a book on Texas wild flowers some years ago and I was one of several locals who attended her book signing.

I handed her my copy of her book and she wrote in it a simple line which turns out to be the best possible one line biography for Jane, and one that I hope applies to my own life: Bloom where you are planted.

What choice does a flower have about its location? None to not much. As long as there is sun and water, that flower is going to bloom. No amount of complaining that the conditions aren’t perfect can in any way change the purpose of the flower. It simply has to bloom.

It is important to remember that you are exactly where God needs you to be this very instant in order to do the work He has planned for you. You may not be where you want to be and the conditions may not appear perfect, but I highly recommend you ignore the forecasts and bloom anyway.

A day after I wrote about Johnny’s need for shoes I received an e-mail from one of you wanting to buy him a pair. Shoes and socks were purchased and one reader bloomed and fertilized my bloom as well.

The same day one pair of shoes was provided, I received a huge stock of groceries and even more shoes and clothing items from the ladies Bible class at my home congregation. Blooms abounded and I am certain the sweet fragrance reached the gates of Heaven and beyond.

I am deliberately vague about specifics when it comes to these kids I have in my home. I change names and identifying details. I do this because I sometimes feel like a tourist to what is their daily life. I know only what I observe in my home and the occasional details I hear about theirs.

What I can say with absolute certainty is that I am blooming where I am planted. My current assignment from my Father has me crammed in a tiny two bedroom apartment surrounded by the working poor. I’m going to bloom. What about you? Blooming?

I want you to get out there and walk—better yet, run!—on the road God called you to travel. I don’t want any of you sitting around on your hands. I don’t want anyone strolling off, down some path that goes nowhere. And mark that you do this with humility and discipline—not in fits and starts, but steadily, pouring yourselves out for each other in acts of love, alert at noticing differences and quick at mending fences.

No prolonged infancies among us, please. We’ll not tolerate babes in the woods, small children who are an easy mark for impostors. God wants us to grow up, to know the whole truth and tell it in love—like Christ in everything. We take our lead from Christ, who is the source of everything we do. He keeps us in step with each other. His very breath and blood flow through us, nourishing us so that we will grow up healthy in God, robust in love. -Ephesians 4

You don’t know. What if I lost my left hand pinky in an unfortunate skateboarding accident last night and I am only just now able to gimp along with my stumpy finger? It could happen.

What if I had another attack of shoe throwing fits and am now sitting in county lock up while my apartment manager lady nurses a bumped noggin?

You just don’t know.

It is also very possible that I have a post burning a hole in my brain and it involves this:

and then the lovely story that landed Johnny in these:

But I just can’t find the words to express what it all meant to one little boy.

So I could leave that story alone and tell you about how my pantry is now over stocked with snacks for these kids and how I can now feel no fraction of anxiety when a kid asks if he/she can bring his sister/friend/cousin/random guy he/she met at the bus stop to Miss Amy’s tiny apartment for a snack and/or meal and a rest from the hot sun.

But there again, I stutter for lack of words.

The post is coming, Natalie. Don’t you worry your pretty little head. Just you wait till this skin graft heals and I regain feeling in my pinky.

I have been asked before how I went about making my home the kid central home in my neighborhood. It’s a funny question to me because it sounds like I set out banners and balloons to announce a grand opening.

That said, I believe that no matter the financial status of any neighborhood that any of you may live in, there are likely children who need desperately to have a safe haven. I firmly believe that God positioned me right where I am in order to make the comfort of the Gospel available to the 6-10 kids who play in and around my home on most days.

While I can’t give any advice on banners or balloons, I can tell you the qualities that I believe make a home one that draws children in.

• Number one is easy. Be home. If you spend most of your time as at stay at home Mom in the car with your front door locked, the kids will find a different house to go to.
• Cover your home in prayer. I think some of these kids have a keen sense for homes where the walls have witnessed much prayer.
• Talk to the kids. Engage them in conversations about their lives. Be prepared to hear things that break your heart. Validate them.
• If they ask for food or drink, give it to them. My grocery budget is really tight, but I have never had a problem where we went hungry because of the kids’ snacking and joining us for meals. God knows what you are doing. He will provide.
• Decide on a higher level of messiness that you can tolerate. My house must be clean when I wake in the morning and before I go to bed. Between those times, chaos reigns and it’s in various stages of messy.
• Communicate with the kids’ parents. Tell them in front of their children just how great you think their kid is.

As long as Eric and I have lived in neighborhoods with kids in them, we have had the kids in our home. I fix their bikes, their roller skates, and just a few days ago I fixed my very first skateboard. My home is where they go potty, get a drink of water, lounge on the sofa and sit at the table to do some art. When I hear “Miss Amy” from these kids, it sounds much more warm that the formality implies.

I have a good number of friends who have come along side of me and provided food, bikes, and whatever else I may need for some of these kids. If you can’t make your home the haven, see if one of your friends is doing that work. Odds are that the friend will need some aid.

I was very recently given to opportunity to share the weight of my quiet little ministry with the Ladies Bible Class at my church. They are making certain that I have all the snacks I need and when the summer comes, all the meals I may need help with while the kids are out of school.

Ministry is not as complicated as it may seem. It is all about being Jesus. I cannot begin to tell you just how much I get out of the work I do. It is exhausting, heart breaking, and exhilarating all at once. I have seen Jesus, because I have seen His hands at work in my own and the hands of my friends who have pitched in.

I strongly encourage you to look for the quiet, less organized ministries that happen around you. Maybe you need to open your home. Maybe you need to sit down in a restaurant with a homeless guy and converse with him through a meal. Maybe you just need to drop off a bag of apples for the lady whose home is open.

My final advice: I highly recommend you wear an apron if you are going to set yourself up to be the open door in your neighborhood. It is very messy work.

There’s this little boy named Johnny that hangs out at my house. He is eight years old and he has found a way to single handedly annoy me more and woo me more than any other little kid who wasn’t my own. I love Johnny and I am surprised at just how fond of him I have become.

He is among the bunch of kids that I walk home from the bus stop in the afternoon and I have noticed lately that his shoes seemed to be on a daily path for destruction. It looked as though they had taken another step closer to complete uselessness each day I saw him step off that bus.

Today he got off the bus and I saw that his sock was hanging about three inches out of a hole in the front of his shoe. He made a joke about the hole and the “tongue” his shoe had developed. My heart hurt. I wanted to load him up and buy him a pair of shoes. But I just didn’t have the immediate means.

Later in the day it was proposed by Johnny that I walk the children to the local convenient store and buy them all Icees.  For four dollars, I figure its some worth while fun.

I have my kids plus two with me as we cross the busy intersection to get to the store. On the sidewalk right in front of us we saw a pair of brown leather flip flops. The lining was torn slightly, but they were otherwise in perfect condition.

I look around. We are about 100 feet from a shopping strip and at least a block from anybody’s home. These flip flops were clearly abandoned. Johnny grinned at me and only half jokingly said he should try them on.

I didn’t see why not. Turns out, they were a perfect fit. Johnny had a clear look of complete happiness on his face.

“Johnny, I want you to never forget today,” I told him, “Today I hope it was made very clear to you that you are on God’s radar. He knows where you are and what you need.”

“Naw, Miss Amy,” he responded, “It was just a coincidence.”

“No, Johnny. Had it been a coincidence, they would have been two sizes too small and pink.”

Don’t shrug off the flip flops that get put on your sidewalk as coincidence. He knows where you are. He knows what you need.

Somewhere out there is a mother wondering just why her child abandoned his flip flops in the middle of nowhere. I hope she reads blogs.

A commenter on Natalie’s blog made mention that she would be praying to Jehovah-Rapha on behalf of Natalie’s thyroid problems (I will stop linking to Natalie every other post when she stops getting in my head). I read the comment and immediately started to wonder if I was in the wrong place.

I have seen the true identity of God stretched and renamed by a number of religions, and I think I am naturally wary when I see something new applied to the basic truths I already know.

So I did what any web savvy member of my generation would do when faced with a question with no answer on file: I Googled it.

Rapha means “The God that Heals You”. I was directed to read Exodus 15:22-27 in which God reveals Himself as the God who heals. I’ll give you a brief overview of what I learned, because it really is something worth knowing.

Those poor Israelites. So much of what we know about their journey from slavery to freedom is wrought with all kinds of trials that begged them to ignore God’s hand on their lives. Exodus 15:22 finds them in the moments after Pharaoh and his armies were swallowed by the Red Sea right on the heels of God’s chosen.

Surely at least some of the Israelites looked upon the gurgling bubbles of drowning men and said, “God is for us”. Surely they would not doubt His sovereignty after such a great rescue.

Their backs to the bubbles, they walked on. In the hot, hot sun. For three days. No water. So. Thirsty.

And then finally, Marah. Water.

Can you just see how their eyes must have bulged a bit as they swallowed hard on their parched and swollen tongues at the sight of water? I bet they ran. I bet there was much laughter and even a bit of skipping as they jumped in and splashed about in the first reprieve of water they had seen since the Red Sea.

I’m not sure how it looked, but I imagine that one man scooped a nice handful of water up to his mouth and perhaps took a moment to let his distended tongue take in the sweet, sweet…

Gak! Spewing out the water, he raises his hands and alerts the others, “This water is bitter! We can not drink it!”.

Crushed.

How is this possible? Is God not aware that He has led us to bitter water? Did we follow the wrong pillar? We at least had water for our babies in Egypt. We have been led here to die. Why must our darkest moment conceive an even darker one?

Still so thirsty, the Israelites do the only dignified thing they know to do: they complain to Moses. (I would never do that.)

Moses takes their complaints to his best girlfriend and he tells her that the people are being mean and hurting his feelings. His best girlfriend then takes the complaints to her mother, because you know your girlfriends tell their mothers everything, and her mother sits down to the computer to blog about how dreadful it is that the water is bitter.

Wait.

They didn’t have blogs back then.

And also? Moses didn’t piddle around with his best girl friend, like we sometimes do. He went straight to God about the bitter water.

God directed Moses to a tree and Moses threw the tree into the water. The water became sweet and the people were saved. They were saved by Jehovah-Rapha, the God who Heals You.

Go read Exodus, or at least this site to learn more. Right now I just want to tell you what I took away from this lesson.

Sometimes we have to drink in the bitter before we can know what the sweet tastes like. Sometimes God will actually lead us to the bitter waters and this will be a moment when we are given the choice to decide what we believe.

Has God led you here to meet your death? Will you be left exposed in your shame? Does God not intend to fix what is destroyed?

You cannot answer those questions with authority until you have tasted the bitter.

Will He leave you exposed in your shame?
NO. (say it with authority)

Will He leave you here to die?
NO. (own it)

Really want to stick to the devil? Praise God for the bitter waters you cross. Praise Jehovah-Rapha for the healing we received from the tree. We only know the sweet because we have tasted the bitter.

I read a blog some time ago written by a mother with small children and she was frustrated with people seeing her as “just a Mom”. She wrote about her degrees and pre-baby professional credits. Turns out that in the “real world”, she was something(!) and it is important to her that people know that before they lump her in as “just a Mom”.

I also take offense to being called “just a Mom”, but it has nothing to do with who I was before kids or my personal worth to the working world. I take offense because we live in a society that has degraded the honorable profession of Homemaking to such a degree that even those women who do stay home feel obliged to present a resume.

A woman who stays home and treats her role as she would any other high ranking profession is a fine gift to not only her family, but her immediate community. My worth to my community as a professional Mama was made very clear to me in recent days.

An incident occurred in the home of three siblings who frequently hang out at my house. Police were called, and then came the ambulance, the fire truck, and many more police cars. Crime scene tape went up and detectives in suits with guns at their hips donned rubber gloves and marched in and out of the front door.

They were all summoned by a terrified eight year old boy who I had just moments before walked home from the bus stop. I stepped outside when I saw the ambulance, knowing full well that that little boy was without a grown up, and hesitated for just a second at the foot of my staircase. He was on his front porch talking to a police man when he caught sight of me.

“Miss Amy!” He flew down the stairs and into my arms, weeping into my apron. In that instant, I had no idea what trauma occurred, but I knew that this was certainly a moment when a professional Mama was needed.

I took him up to my apartment and got him settled before I went back outside to meet his older siblings at their bus stops amid all the chaos of flashing lights and sirens.

At some point during all of this, the kids’ Mom was made aware that I was handling her children. She was immediately relieved. This woman and I have never spoken beyond neighborly hellos. She does not know me. But she knows I am a professional Mama. And she took comfort knowing that her kids were getting professional help.

I spoke with a few officers and monitored a bit when the kids met one by one with a crisis counselor. When all the dust settled and they were all packing to leave I was thanked by those men for being there. The crisis counselor stopped for a minute before leaving and asked me, “And you? How are you holding up? What do you make of all of this?”

I thought for a moment before telling him, “I am a believer in Jesus Christ. I wake up daily in my field of mission. I am just pleased to have been right where He needed me to be with the right tools for the job at hand.”

I write this because I hope to embolden you professional Mamas out there. You are more significant now than at any other time in your life. Your challenge is greater now than ever. And your worth is at its peak. Never disown your profession as anything less than honorable.

You may have noticed that I have been working on tagging my archived posts with labels. This has proven to be quite a trip back in time. I would like to share two posts that I wrote back in 2005 about my youngest brother Nathan. It made my heart smile to re-read them, and I hope it does you too.
Might also explain how it is that his death coupled with my Multiple Sclerosis has just about convinced me that this current world is not God’s plan for us.

My Dates With Nathan

Nathan’s first car was a 1960 something Cougar. In the first several months that he owned that car it sat in the driveway with bricks behind the tires while he spent every spare minute crawling all over it to get it running.

A Glimpse

At 11:37 this morning, little Ethan Powell finished what was a very short journey here.

It was the e-mail that my dear cousin Gina sent to me well over a year ago about her friends the Powells that got me started on the desire to know more about prayer.

That the request came from Gina made me all the more prayer dyslexic. Gina, my dear cousin whom I love as a sister, Gina who buried her sweet Mariah even though I know the saints were pounding on Heaven’s gates for almost the full length of that fragile pregnancy.

We prayed. We all prayed until we wept. We believed that God could make her whole. And still we lost Mariah Grace. Were we lacking? Did we not move the arrow on the faith-o-meter enough?

Was God mad at us?

And in this condition, I began praying for Ethan Powell. This is what I prayed:

Forgive me for thinking my greatness matters in your decision to bless me and those for which I pray. It is your glory I seek, in all things. Lift me up to expose your glory in exaltation. Let me crumble to expose your glory in grace. Use me to fulfill your will and forgive me when I would rather use you to fulfill mine.

In all things, and especially Ethan right now, I pray that it can never be debated that your hand was present in battle. May no man view the scope of the war that raged, both spiritual and physical, to save this little baby and ever deny that the LORD’s eye oversaw the whole matter.

“And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.”
Revelation 21:4