Faith

Spring Thaw

The robins are back! I’m not sure where these red-bellied birds go for the winter, but I saw one for the first time this morning. A sure sign of spring.

So I decided to look for other signs as I took my morning walk. Some trees now have buds. Green shoots are poking up from the cold ground along with a few brave crocuses. The ugly patches of dirty snow are nearly all melted away. And ice no longer covers the nearby lake. These early signs of renewed life mean that warmer weather and summer gardens can’t be far away.

My search for new life outdoors made me want to look for signs of it inside, too—not in my house but in my soul. Winter settles over the northern hemisphere each year because the earth gradually tilts away from the sun. Spring returns once the earth tilts back again. That means spiritual winter must come when I become so busy and distracted that I subtly move away from God, the Source of life. Springtime reminds me to thaw any ice that has covered my heart and draw close to Him again. Jesus warned that in the last days, “Because of the increase of wickedness, the love of most will grow cold” (Matthew 24:12). And He warned Christians in Revelation that “You have forsaken your first love . . . you are neither cold nor hot.”

It’s time to melt the snows of complacency and look for signs of spiritual life, the same way I searched for it outdoors this morning. Am I becoming more Christ-like every day? Do others see signs of change in me? The Bible says we’re supposed to continue growing throughout our spiritual journey until we “become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ” (Ephesians 4:13).

The best way I know to measure growth is to look for fruit in my life, using the familiar list in Galatians 5:22 as my guide: Am I becoming more loving—or becoming a permanent grouch? Am I increasingly joyful, no matter the circumstances—or do I keep reciting the same litany of complaints and excuses? Does the peace of God fill me—or do I continue to worry and fret? What about kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness? If these still aren’t part of my everyday personality, shouldn’t they at least be peeking through the surface by now as signs of Christ’s life in me? And how about self-control? They say the best test for this is when someone cuts you off in traffic. Or when family members frustrate you—again.

It will soon be time to clean out my flowerbeds, prune the dead branches, and cultivate my vegetable garden and plant new seeds. This year, it’s my prayer that these springtime chores will remind me to remove the dead weeds from my heart and cultivate spiritual fruit in my soul.

Which one of these Fruits of the Spirit do you most want to cultivate this spring?

Christmas Traditions

For many years now, my book deadline has been January 15. That means I’m always racing to finish my novel during the holidays. With three children and a musician-husband whose busiest season is also Christmas, I decided several years ago to stop trying to produce a perfect “Hallmark” holiday. I sat everyone down and asked which traditions were most important to them, and together we came up with a Christmas celebration that is perfect for our family.

My husband’s family is mostly Dutch (except for his father, who barged into town and added the Austin name). To celebrate his heritage we set a pair of wooden shoes near our front door for St. Nicholas Day. Our kids never believed in Santa Claus since we wanted them to celebrate Christmas as Jesus’s birthday, but they loved those wooden shoes—and the fact that their father marched in them in Holland’s Tulip Time Parade when he was young.

We also bake traditional Dutch Jan Hagel cookies and serve them with egg nog as we decorate our Christmas tree. The background music for this event is a CD that our church choir in Winnipeg, Canada recorded when my husband was their music director. Our tree isn’t magazine-worthy but we decorate it with love and with ornaments the kids made in school, as well as decorations from all the places we’ve lived and traveled.

On Christmas Eve we hang the stockings that my sister Bonnie pieced and quilted for us years ago. She’s in heaven now, but we remember her with love when we see her beautiful handiwork. Our dinner on Christmas Day reflects my German background. Five days ahead of time, I begin marinating a beef roast in vinegar, onions and mixed pickling spices to make Sauerbraten. I also bake ginger snaps, which get crumbled up to thicken the traditional gravy. Served with spätzle and cooked red cabbage, this has become our favorite Christmas meal. Dessert is cake with candles for Jesus’s birthday.

When our children were very small, I purchased an inexpensive nativity scene that they could handle without breaking. Every year they divvy up the shepherds and wise men and other figures and set each piece in place as my husband reads the Christmas story from the Bible. Now that our kids are grown and married, their spouses join in the tradition. I could buy a fancier nativity set but none of us wants to part with that old, well-worn one.

Our traditions have continued to transform as our family has grown and added new members. We now celebrate Chanukah, the Festival of Lights, by lighting menorah candles and placing them in our window. I love eating warm potato latkes like the ones my great-grandmother used to make with sour cream and applesauce. Jesus also celebrated this traditional Jewish holiday (see John 10:22-23), a reminder of God’s provision and the rededication of His temple. For me, it’s a reminder that Jesus came at Christmas to bring light into a very dark world.

Jesus wants me to let my light shine too, but I can’t do that if I’m stressed out from trying to achieve Christmas perfection. The celebration of Christ’s birth should be a time to relax with my family and friends and enjoy God’s gracious gift of His Son. It’s in those moments with my loved ones close, that I feel the holy wonder of Christmas once again—Emmanuel, God with us!

Does your family have special Christmas traditions and foods?

The Festival of Joy

This past week I had the privilege of celebrating the Jewish Festival of Succoth with some of my Jewish friends and family members. Also known as the Feast of Booths or Tabernacles, it commemorates God’s provision in the wilderness for 40 years when His people lived in temporary shelters, protected by His Clouds of Glory. To prepare for the week-long festival, we built a temporary structure or sukkah using leaves and other natural materials. We covered it with a roof made of branches that allowed us to see the night sky above. Here is the work in progress on our back deck.

A Quiet Faith

When I think of the many Christian women who’ve inspired me, I always think of my paternal grandmother. I used to spend a week or two with her during summer vacations when I was a girl, and even though we were both eager to start each day together, Grandma always spent time with God first, reading her well-worn Bible and praying. Her faithfulness made a deep impression on me.

Sunday was the Lord’s Day, and I loved going to church with her. She was a lifelong member and a gifted pianist, playing for worship services and singing in the choir. My dad sang in the choir too, and thanks to Grandma, he had a perfect record of Sunday school attendance up to the day he enlisted in the U.S. Navy at age 18 to fight in World War II. He was Grandma’s only child, and I believe her prayers kept him safe during those years. As scripture says, “The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective” (James 5:16).

Grandma was a teetotaler her entire life. She joined the Women’s Christian Temperance Union when she was 16 and took the pledge to never touch a drop of liquor. Following the motto, “Lips that touch liquor shall not touch ours,” young temperance women vowed never to court or marry a man who used alcohol. Grandma married my grandfather when she was 25 and I never saw him drinking alcohol, either.

While researching one of my novels, I came across some fascinating information about the WCTU and it gave me even more admiration for my grandmother. I decided to feature this women’s organization in my novel, Though Waters Roar.

The Woman’s Christian Temperance Union was started in 1874 by a group of women who had firsthand experience of the evils of alcohol, often from family members such as their husbands, fathers or sons. At that time in America there was one saloon for every 300 people. In some towns, bars outnumbered all the schools, libraries, hospitals, theaters and parks—added together. The ladies of the WTCU vowed to do something about it. They held prayer meetings and vigils outside popular saloons (in all sorts of weather) and even went inside sometimes, to shame patrons into going home to their wives and families. When the ladies succeeded in closing one establishment, they moved on to the next, doing their work “For God, for home, and for native land.”

Carrie Nation, the wife of an alcoholic, took her protests a step further. She brought an axe to local train stations and smashed shipments of whiskey before the contents could be distributed. She was arrested numerous times, yet never quit.

On January 29, 1920, Congress passed the 18th Amendment and the Temperance women achieved their goal of total prohibition of the sale of alcohol throughout the United States. Remarkably, these women achieved this at a time when they still didn’t have the right to vote. Grandma was undoubtedly happy when the amendment passed—and likely disappointed when Prohibition was later rescinded in 1933.

If I could go back in time and relive any memory with my grandmother, I would choose the hours we spent sitting side-by-side on her piano bench, singing our way through her well-used hymnbook. How I loved to watch her soft, graceful hands caress the piano keys and hear her rich alto voice, a little shaky with age, as she harmonized with my girlish soprano. She taught me to love those old hymns, and I still enjoy them today, especially Grandma’s favorite, “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.” Thanks to her, Jesus is my friend, too.

A Parable

I just drove down to the post office to mail an old, worn-out pair of shoelaces to a cat! It had to be one of the weirdest packages I’ve ever sent. But Dexter, who is my “grand-cat,” was lost without those shoelaces and overjoyed to have them back. Before you think I’ve gone off the deep end, here’s the story.

I’ve written about Dexter before—how he was a homeless, rescue cat that no one wanted. My daughter and her husband gave him a temporary foster home and “tamed” him to help their overcrowded, local animal shelter. When a permanent home was found and Dexter was suddenly snatched from our lives, we all realized how very much we’d grown to love him and his quirky personality. Dexter must have missed us too, because a week later, his new owners returned him to the shelter, saying things weren’t working out. My daughter and son-in-law welcomed him back, permanently adopting him into their home.

The old, tattered, half-unraveled shoelaces in this story came from my son-in-law’s hiking boots. He threw the laces into the garbage after replacing them with a new pair. Dexter retrieved them from the trash and made them his new favorite toy. Tied together, they make one long string that he entertains himself with for hours. He holds one end of the lace in his mouth and runs in circles around a chair or under the dining room table, wildly chasing the other end. Sometimes the shoelace gets so entangled in the chair rungs that his creation resembles a spider’s web. Unconcerned, he leaves it there when he’s finished playing. He has figured out how to unravel it again when he’s ready to renew the chase.

I kitty-sat for Dexter and his cat-brother, Leonidas, when my daughter and her husband went on vacation two weeks ago. Dexter had a grand time chasing his shoelace all over my house while he was here and winding it around my dining room chairs. And I have to admit that I enjoyed my morning snuggles with him when he would climb onto my lap to be hugged and petted, purring like a chainsaw, shedding white fur everywhere. But when we drove the cats back to Chicago, we accidentally left the shoelace behind. No other cord or string or shoelace could take the place of the worn-out, fraying one Dexter had grown to love. So I mailed it back to him. He retrieved it from the envelope himself.

Now, I’m normally not one of those people who give human emotions to animals. But I can’t deny that Dexter’s shoelace makes him happy. And his story moves me because it’s such a perfect picture of redemption. My daughter and son-in-law took a wild, bedraggled cat into their home and redeemed him through their love and patience. He’s not the same animal that first arrived at the shelter. And Dexter’s “love” for a worn-out, discarded shoelace transformed it into a toy that was worthy of first-class postage.

God redeems us because He is somehow able to look past our rough exterior and see a beloved child in need of grace. And the love He extends to us through His Son Jesus has the power to transform us and change our lives. Every time I look at Dexter and his shoelace I have to wonder how often I’ve turned away from difficult, unlovable people, judging them unredeemable, unworthy of my time or compassion or love. And I wonder what miracles might take place if I learned to see people the way this once-unlovable cat saw a piece of trash. Or the way our Heavenly Father sees me.

“As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear Him; for He knows how we are formed, He remembers that we are dust” (Psalm 103: 13-14).

A Year in Review

It’s popular this time of year for TV specials to review the past 12 months and remind us of all the events that occurred. I did something similar on January 1st and looked at my own year in review. Every morning during my quiet time I keep a journal, jotting down what I’ve been doing, what I’m praying for, and any insights that God shows me as I read my Bible. Sometimes it’s easy to miss the miraculous in the details of daily living, but as I re-read my journal for 2014, God’s hand became amazingly clear.

His answers to prayer, for instance. I began the year with many pleas for guidance as my husband prepared to retire from his job after 22 years. All the details of his retirement seemed overwhelming to me a year ago and occupied my prayers: selling our home, packing and purging and cleaning, moving to a new home in a new state, enduring financial changes, leaving friends and family behind. But here we are, settled-in and thriving, enjoying the changes, and thanking God for bringing us here. All that worry—for nothing!

There were prayers for family members too, chief among them for our son to find a job after earning his PhD in May. It was a nail-biter and the waiting seemed endless, but in God’s perfect timing a job opened up for him at the beginning of the college year, one he is enjoying immensely. Looking back at answered prayers gives me faith to believe that God will answer my future prayers too, in the year ahead.

On January 1, 2014, I wrote: “A brand new year. I can’t imagine what it will bring, but I’ll trust in God. I long to live intentionally, to enjoy life every day, and not simply mark time on a calendar or check off a to-do list.” Little did I know all the places I would go or how much I would need to trust Him! In March I traveled on a speaking tour to the Netherlands. When I returned I wrote, “God gave me strength and His words to speak. He is able to do more than we can ever ask or imagine.” I also spoke at Sandy Cove Retreat Center in Maryland, and went on a wonderful speaking tour in Germany in June. In my journal I recalled how terrified I used to be of public speaking and of flying. “I wonder how often my fear and doubt have caused me to miss the good things God planned for me,” I wrote. “If I had remained fearful of speaking and flying, I would have missed the blessings of serving Him in these amazing places.” I used to have so much fear—when all along, God held my life in His faithful hand.

As 2014 drew to a close, I wrote on December 31: “This has been a year of so many changes and new beginnings! Lord, help me to change in the days ahead and become more and more like Jesus.” And when I think about it, maybe that’s what the trials and challenges we face are really all about—teaching us to trust our Savior and to become more and more like Him. As a New Year begins, I pray that God will help me replace worry and fear with faith and trust in Him.

Thanksgiving Joy

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays, one that I’m determined not to allow our culture to hijack or separate from its faith-based roots. It has already happened with other Christian holidays—Christ’s resurrection has been replaced by chocolate bunnies and eggs, Christmas by Santa Claus and consumerism. Thanksgiving is quickly becoming a day to overindulge, watch football, and shop for bargains.

But the roots of Thanksgiving, like Christmas and Easter, are biblical. The Pilgrims got the idea for a harvest celebration from the Old Testament Feast of Tabernacles—in spite of what my daughter’s eighth grade social studies book said. The text never mentioned God and said that the Pilgrims were thanking the Indians!  When Abraham Lincoln began our modern-day celebration in 1863 it was as a religious holiday. He declared that the U.S. should observe “a day of Thanksgiving and praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the heavens.”

I decided to consult the same source as the Pilgrims for my family’s Thanksgiving celebration. Deuteronomy 16:13-15 says: “Celebrate the Feast of Tabernacles for seven days after you have gathered the produce of your threshing floor and your winepress.” Feasting for seven days may not be realistic but one day isn’t nearly long enough to thank God for all my blessings—chief among them, my salvation. We try to make the long weekend a time of rest from the busyness and craziness of life, setting aside time to enjoy the people around us, and to thank God for the blessings of the past year.

“Be joyful at your feast—”  Joyful! Thanksgiving isn’t the time to nurse grudges and old wounds, it’s the time for a brand new start. A few days before the Feast of Tabernacles, God’s people knelt before Him on Yom Kippur and thoroughly examined their lives, confessing their sins and asking for forgiveness. And before daring to approach Him, they were commanded to mend any broken relationships and seek forgiveness from those they’ve harmed—and to extend forgiveness to those who asked. Imagine how joyful Thanksgiving Day would be if we celebrated it with a clean slate—a new beginning with God and with each other.

“…you, your sons and daughters, your menservants and maidservants, and the Levites, the aliens, the fatherless and the widows who live in your towns.”  While I don’t have any maidservants (sigh), it’s a tradition in our family to invite people who are far from home or without family to feast with us. My husband and I started this tradition when we were “aliens” ourselves, living in South America. We invited a dozen expatriate friends to join us for Thanksgiving—and every year since then, our meal hasn’t been complete without the “aliens, fatherless and widows” at our table.

“For seven days celebrate the feast to the Lord your God . . .” I never want to forget that this is a feast dedicated to praising and thanking God. I love it that our church has a Thanksgiving Day worship service. God is at the center of our day, not the turkey. Our family also spends time around the table talking about our faith and our faithful God.

“For the Lord your God will bless you in all your harvest and in all the work of your hands . . .” It’s interesting that Abraham Lincoln instituted Thanksgiving in the middle of the Civil War, a time of enormous hardship in our nation. I try to remember that God can bring blessings from our hardest trials, whether our “harvest” is big or small. The most painful times in my life were when I’ve drawn the closest to Him.

“…and your joy will be complete.”  Joy! Complete—with nothing lacking. Our lives will overflow with joy when we take time to express our gratitude to our God, the source of all our blessings.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Flight of Faith

Every now and then I have the opportunity to get away from my desk and travel somewhere to speak. For months I had been looking forward to a Ladies’ Brunch at a church in St. Louis, Missouri. Flying there the day before, I arrived at O’Hare Airport in Chicago at 8:30 AM and checked the board for my gate number.

FLIGHT CANCELLED

What! I skimmed down the roster and saw that nearly every flight was DELAYED or CANCELLED. “There was a fire this morning in our main radar facility,” an airline employee explained. He pointed to a long line of passengers and said, “An agent will rebook your flight.”

I joined the line then called Bonnie, my contact at the church. “We’ll start praying,” she promised.

The line barely moved. When an hour had passed and hundreds of people were still lined up ahead of me, I called my husband in a panic. “Can you look into train schedules to St. Louis?” He called back to say that Amtrak was sold out until late tonight. I decided to wait a little longer before opting for the train. I was chewing my fingernails.

It took more than three hours to finally talk to a booking agent, so I had plenty of time to worry. All around me, people were shouting at employees and yelling into cell phones, explaining why they absolutely HAD to get to their destinations. My stomach churned with worry. Then it occurred to me that God was still in control. (I know, sometimes I’m slow-witted about these things).

Did I believe that God had called me to speak at this church? Yes.

Then if He wanted me there, I would get there. And if He had another plan for the brunch tomorrow, then all the worrying in the world wouldn’t make a bit of difference.

When I finally spoke to an agent, I was calm as I explained my problem. “I can re-book you for 10:00 am tomorrow,” she said.

“That’s too late. I’m the keynote speaker at 9:00 am tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry but I have no seats available today.”

I didn’t budge. “I have to be there,” I repeated, still calm. “Can you book me on any flight out then re-route me back to St. Louis?” She explained that without radar, flights were landing and taking off one at a time. The chances of getting on any plane out of O’Hare today were grim. I still didn’t budge.

“Let me look again,” she said with a sigh. I listened as her fingers clicked across the keyboard. She looked up in surprise. “I do have a seat on a flight at 2:30 today—if the incoming plane manages to land here, that is.” I told her to book it.

At 3:30, I was still waiting at the gate with the other worried passengers. One young man was supposed to be the best man at his brother’s wedding. Three sweet ladies from Ireland were trying to get to their relative’s house. A young soldier on leave from Japan hadn’t seen his wife and 4-year-old son in months. He stood up and announced, “I’m renting a car. If anyone wants a ride, you’re welcome to come.”

Maybe this was God’s plan for me. I decided to join him. So did the Irish ladies and the best man. “But let’s check with the gate agent one last time before we give up,” I suggested. And at that very moment she learned that our airplane had finally landed. “But will it be able to take off again?” we all asked. She was reasonably certain it would. Eventually. And later that evening, it did.

The brunch went well the next morning. I testified firsthand that God answers prayer, and told the ladies we should all stop worrying. Then I learned that all of the flights back to Chicago that day—and the next day—had been cancelled. And I had another speaking engagement in Michigan in a day and a half. I guess I needed a second lesson in faith.

Jesus urged His followers to go the extra mile, and Bonnie and her committee members lived out His command. They drove me halfway home, and my husband and his good friend drove the other half to pick me up. We all spent six hours in a car. But I made it to my next event.

Is there a moral to this tale? Jesus said it best: “You of little faith, why are you so afraid? . . . Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?”

God is in control—and I’m not Him.