Faith - Lynn Austin

Life Lessons

I attended a funeral recently for a man I didn’t know well. His daughter is a friend from church, his wife a friend from book club. “It is better to go to a house of mourning,” scripture says, “than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of every man; the living should take this to heart” (Ecclesiastes 7:2). I need a reminder, every now and then, of how short time my time on earth is, so I’ll make every day count. Ron’s funeral reminded me of some important life lessons.

1) Life is hard—don’t whine about it. Ron grew up with seven siblings and little money. To help out, he assisted his brother with his paper route so he could buy a bicycle and start his own route. Ron worked hard and finally bought a bike—and that very day a car backed over it and destroyed it. What did Ron do? He started all over again, working to save for another bike. As an adult, he applied the same work ethic and perseverance to start his own business, slowly growing it over the years.

Photo Credit: christian.senger via Compfight cc

I admit I’m a whiner. I love telling sob stories so everyone will feel sorry for me. But the trials we face build character—and often reveal our character. Yes, life is hard…but God is good.

2) People Matter. Ron’s office manager gave one of the most touching eulogies. “He was more than my boss,” she said. “He was a father to me, and a friend.” People were very important to Ron. Even the doorman from his condominium attended his funeral, weeping throughout the service. Ron knew when to leave work behind and spend time with family, attending their sporting events and programs, taking vacations together. His “family” grew into a huge extended one with plenty of love to go around.

People matter to God, and therefore they should matter to me. Is my heart large enough to encompass all the people God sends my way—including the doorman?

3) Our legacy. Ron was generous with his time, his money and his possessions. He and his family chose “birthday verses,” using the month and day of their birth to select a Bible passage that spoke to their heart. Ron chose 2 Corinthians 9:6-7: “Whoever sows sparingly will reap sparingly, and whoever sows generously will reap generously…for God loves a cheerful giver.” Ron loved buying gifts for his family and was generous to strangers, as well. His wife had to restrain him from over-tipping in restaurants.

Am I living a life of generosity or sowing sparingly? As I sifted through my closets and storage rooms in preparation for our move, I was struck by the sheer amount of stuff I had stashed away. Why didn’t I donate it years ago?

We’ve heard these truths before, in many forms: Jesus’ parable of the Rich Fool who needed to build larger barns for all his stuff; Lazarus and the rich man whose concern for his family’s spiritual life came much too late. And remember Jesus’ words about not storing up treasures on earth? There are no U-Haul trailers behind hearses.

The legacy I leave behind doesn’t consist of my possessions or the money leftover in my retirement account after I’m gone. I’m building a legacy every day with all the seemingly minor choices I make, the priorities I choose, and the way I treat people. And when I graduate to heaven, I hope I’m remembered for showing the love of Christ to others.

onMay 19, 2014June 18, 2016inFaith, Life

2554
0
0

Moving Day

Today is the day I’ve been anticipating for the past eight months, the day we move into our new home in Michigan. It’s the end of a journey but also the beginning of a new one.

My husband Ken and I started planning his retirement last fall as we vacationed in Michigan where he grew up—and where we met and fell in love. As we cycled along one of our favorite bicycle trails near the lakeshore, we saw a “For Sale by Owner” sign in front of a beautiful little house that I’d long admired. The owners were having an open house that day, so we tromped inside in our cycling clothes. As soon as I saw the custom-built library shelves in the great room, complete with a rolling library ladder, I fell in love. The house had everything we needed, including a gorgeous new office for me, and a sandy beach on Lake Michigan where we could watch the sunset every evening.

But it was only October of 2013. Ken wasn’t retiring until May, 2014. We returned home, looked over our finances, prayed long and hard, and decided that we just couldn’t afford to own two houses. Renting and/or commuting for the next eight months were also out of the question. With heavy hearts, we told the wonderful Christian couple who were selling the home that we simply couldn’t buy it right now.

As it turned out, the owners had been praying as well. In a moment I will never forget, they called to tell us, “We believe God wants you to have our home. We’re willing to take it off the market and live here until you sell your house next spring.” It seemed like a miracle.

All winter, I sorted through twenty-two years’ worth of stuff we’ve accumulated since buying this house. As spring arrived, I began to worry about how this would all work out. Would our house sell quickly and for a good price? What if it didn’t sell at all after the sellers in Michigan had waited so patiently? We prayed and listed it for sale on a Friday morning, and after a weekend of non-stop showings, we had five offers by Monday morning. We accepted an offer for our full asking price. The beautiful young family who bought it is as excited about their new home as we are about ours.

Now the months of packing and waiting are over. As you read this post, I will be unpacking boxes, setting up my computer, and putting books on my library shelves. From start to finish, Ken and I have seen God at work in this move, dispelling all doubts about our decision to retire in Michigan. And maybe that’s why everything happened the way it did. With a move of this magnitude involving so many changes in our life, God must have known I would have questioned and doubted and second-guessed our decision if things hadn’t gone so smoothly.

We’ve arrived at a new beginning, praising God for His goodness. I wonder if Abraham and Sarah felt this much joy and anticipation when they packed up their household to follow God?

onMay 5, 2014June 18, 2016inFaith, Life

2729
2
1

Editing—and Life!

How long does it take to write a book? The answer is different for every author, but for me the process takes one year. Since I write historical fiction, I begin by doing research, a step that is truly fun for me. I love reading and digesting hundreds of facts and images and ideas about different time periods and pouring that information into what I call “story soup.” For the biblical series that I’m currently writing, I’ve read several translations of the books of Ezra, Nehemiah, and Esther, along with a variety of study notes and commentaries. These historical sources are fascinating to me, especially the archaeological discoveries from this period. One book compared the details of Queen Esther’s story in the Bible with the archaeological ruins of her palace in Susa—and the Bible proved to be amazingly accurate. But my favorite part of doing research is traveling to the places I’m going to write about—in this case, the land of Israel.

Doing research generates story ideas, and the next step in the process is creation—taking all of the raw materials and crafting them into a story. I begin by creating my characters, and I even pin pictures of how I imagine them to look on a bulletin board above my desk. This is the fun part of writing. I can let my imagination soar, using my creativity to transform historical facts and images into a story that will bring the time period to life for my readers.

I try to let the story flow freely, and I since I don’t outline the novel ahead of time I make up the plot as I go along. But I’m somewhat of a perfectionist and usually can’t resist the urge to edit what I’ve written as fast as I write it. I often begin each writing day by re-reading yesterday’s pages (which seemed so brilliant as I was writing them!) and re-working them before launching into the new writing for that day. By the time the book is finished, I’ve re-written and edited the story dozens of times.

I’m blessed to be part of a writers’ critique group, sharing my writing life with two very special women—multi-published authors Jane Rubietta and Cleo Lampos. We’ve been meeting together for more than 21 years now, and as they critique my work-in-progress, our collaboration always makes my novels even better. As scripture says, “You use steel to sharpen steel, and one friend sharpens another” (Proverbs 27:17, The Message).

When my final draft is complete, the novel still isn’t finished. I always print out the manuscript so I can read and edit the printed pages. Then I type those edits back into the computer for one final rewrite. By now, my deadline usually has arrived so it’s time to send the manuscript to my publishing company. I always wish that this was the final step, that I could be finished with the project and move on to writing the next novel. It isn’t.

My editor gives the manuscript to several in-house readers and compiles their comments and observations, along with her own, into a long letter of things for me to “consider” as I re-write it one more time. I confess, I dislike this step most of all, and would skip it entirely if I could. It makes me feel the way I did in school when a project I’ve worked on for a long time comes back with a grade of B instead of the A+ I was hoping for.

But the truth is, we are often blind to our own faults. The characters and story are clear in my own mind because I’ve lived with them for nearly a year, but to an outside reader, there may be thoughts I failed to convey, or holes in the plot that need to be filled, or maybe a loose thread left dangling. Fresh eyes can see these flaws much more clearly that I can. So in the interest of publishing the best possible book, I’ve learned to value these comments, even when they prick my pride and feel like unwelcome criticism.

I’ve discovered that I need other people in my Christian walk of faith, too. We Americans are proud of our rugged individualism, and that attitude can carry over into our spiritual lives if we’re not careful. “Me and Jesus—that’s all I need.” But it isn’t true. I know how much my writing improves as I share it with trusted friends in my critique group, or with my editor . And the same honest sharing of my spiritual struggles can benefit me as well.

It’s difficult for me to let someone “wash my feet,” and even more difficult to be the one to point out the need for washing to someone else, especially someone I look up to. I admire the courage it took for Nathan the prophet to confront King David after he sinned with Bathsheba. And I admire the humility and courage it took for David to accept Nathan’s rebuke, knowing that it had really come from God.

Whether it’s my manuscript or my life, I need other people to be my outside eyes, helping me stay on the right path. When I’m brave enough to pray, “Search me, O God, and know my heart…see if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting” (Psalm 139:23-24), I shouldn’t be surprised when He sends a friend into my life to gently point the way back to the right path.

onMarch 3, 2014June 18, 2016inFaith, Life, Writing

3906
4
0

Hezekiah’s Tunnel

This week’s blog is excerpted from my new non-fiction book, Pilgrimage: My Journey to a Deeper Faith In the Land Where Jesus Walked. (Bethany House Copyright 2013)

Hezekiah’s Tunnel

The icy water takes my breath away. I wade into it, stepping down, and down again, until it reaches my thighs. But the shivery water isn’t the worst part of this trek through King Hezekiah’s tunnel. There is no light in here, electric or natural, and the claustrophobic tunnel meanders underground as if excavated by drunkards. Ahead of me, a tall man stoops to keep from smacking his head on the stone ceiling. A heavyset woman looks as though she regrets this adventure as she squeezes between the slimy walls. None of us can turn back. There’s only enough room to walk single file.

This water system, deep below the city of Jerusalem, is manmade. The Bible tells us that “It was Hezekiah who blocked the upper outlet of the Gihon spring and channeled the water down to the west side of the City of David” (2 Chronicles 32:30). I know the story well. The first novel I ever wrote, Gods and Kings, was part a three-book series about the life of King Hezekiah, who reigned in Jerusalem seven hundred years before Christ. With no supply of fresh water in the city and the vicious Assyrian army marching toward him, Hezekiah needed to find a way to safeguard the freshwater spring, located outside the city walls. His solution was to dig an underground tunnel from the spring to a new reservoir within the walls. Pressured to complete the work before the Assyrians attacked, he ordered the workers to start digging from opposite ends and meet in the middle.

“Hey, is it safe to trust a tunnel that was dug 2,700 years ago?” someone asks as we slosh forward. I shake my head but no one sees me in the dark. No. I don’t trust an ancient tunnel, especially in a city that has occasional earthquakes. I can only trust God—and keep moving, shining my feeble flashlight. The chiseled floor is uneven and rough, and since we can’t see our feet below the inky water, we shuffle slowly, careful not to stumble and fall. I’m not a big fan of caves, and this manmade one with its straight walls and squared-off ceiling is dark and creepy. The weight of the mountain above my head feels crushing.

“How much farther?” someone asks in a shaky voice. I don’t dare tell her that this serpentine tunnel will wind for nearly a third of a mile and take about half an hour to walk through. The college students in our group try to lighten the atmosphere with laughter and jokes. Then one of them starts to sing: “Fill it up and let it overflow . . .” It’s an upbeat version of “Amazing Grace” with an added refrain, “Fill it up and let it overflow, let it overflow with love.” Soon, everyone joins in.

We reach the middle and stop to see the spot where the two tunnels met. Here, chiseled into the rock, was the oldest Hebrew inscription ever discovered, written by Hezekiah’s men to explain how they had broken through after digging from opposite ends. The inscription is in a museum in Turkey, not here. We shine our flashlights on the wall and see where it once was, and also how the chisel marks slant from opposite directions at the meeting point.

This tunnel is an engineering marvel, especially when you consider that it was dug in 700 BC. Experts still aren’t sure how anyone could dig two meandering tunnels that began a third of a mile apart and get them to meet up in the middle, deep underground. Impossible! Everyone who hears the story and sees the tunnel is impressed with King Hezekiah and his men.

But God wasn’t impressed. He sent the prophet Isaiah to rebuke the king for all of his plans, saying, “You built a reservoir between the two walls for the water of the Old Pool, but you did not look to the One who made it, or have regard for the One who planned it long ago’” (Isaiah 22:11). In other words, Hezekiah was relying on his own preparations instead of trusting God.

Fifteen minutes later, a pinprick of light in the distance tells us we are almost to the end. I have a new respect for that old cliché about seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I hear a lot of grateful sighs, including my own, when we wade out into the blinding sunlight. As we sit in the sun to warm up and let our clothes dry out, I’m still thinking of Hezekiah.

The city of Jerusalem was saved from the Assyrians, but not by this tunnel. When the most powerful army on earth surrounded Hezekiah, demanding surrender, he knew he’d reached the end of his resources. Facing an impossible situation, he went up to the Temple and knelt before God, placing his hope and trust in Him: “O Lord Almighty, God of Israel,” he prayed. “You alone are God over all the kingdoms of the earth . . . Now, O Lord our God, deliver us from [the enemy’s] hand, so that all kingdoms on earth may know that you alone, O Lord, are God” (Isaiah 37:16, 20). That night, the angel of the Lord walked among the sleeping Assyrian warriors and put to death a hundred and eighty-five thousand of them. At dawn, the horrified king of Assyria gathered up his few surviving soldiers and bolted for home.

It’s okay to make plans, but the lesson of Hezekiah’s tunnel is that when we put our trust in God, not only is He victorious but He is glorified. I think of the struggles I’ve experienced lately as life has veered out of my control, the times when I’ve panicked as the water has crept higher and higher until it seemed to reach my neck. In spite of all my feverish plans and schemes, the enemy has besieged and surrounded me, leaving me trapped with no way to escape. But as I sit in the sunlight outside Hezekiah’s tunnel, I think of God’s promise from Isaiah, the prophet in Hezekiah’s time: “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you” (Isaiah 43:1-2).

We can step into the deep water, the darkness, the unknown—and trust God. At the end of the tunnel, we will emerge into dazzling sunlight.

onFebruary 17, 2014June 18, 2016inBooks, Faith

5292
5
0

The Beginning

“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep…” (Genesis 1:1)
I love new beginnings, like the beginning of this New Year, 2014. Of course I have unfinished projects and unanswered prayers leftover from last year, but there’s something about a new year that makes me excited and hopeful and ready to put past disappointments and failures behind me and start all over again.

As each new year begins, I return to the book of Genesis and start reading through the Bible once again from start to finish. If I keep up with my daily readings of about 20 minutes each, I will complete the Bible a year from now with Revelation. I will also begin to write my next novel at the start of the year. This next book is called Upon This Foundation, which will tell Nehemiah’s story. The plot and characters come from the Bible of course, but the “fictionalized” part of the story is already forming in my head and I can’t wait to put it down on paper… or in this case, type it on my computer.

Beginnings are very important. Good writing advice says that the first words and pages of a novel are very important and must hook the reader like a fish on a line and entice them to continue reading. I’ll try to do that with Nehemiah’s story. And the Bible also begins our salvation story with a great hook: “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” Makes you want to keep reading, doesn’t it? But a few pages into God’s story, we read of tragedy as sin enters the picture.

As I begin writing each novel, I always have great plans for it, imagining how the book will take shape and what readers will experience as they read. But somehow, my novels never seem to end up the way I’ve planned them in my mind. They aren’t bad or flawed…they just turn out differently than I expected. Not so with God’s story. From the beginning, He knew how His creation would end, even after sin entered the story—and what a glorious ending it will be: “The kingdom of this world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of His Christ, and He will reign for ever and ever” (Revelation 11:15).

An interesting thing happens during the year that it takes me to finish my novels, and it may explain why the story sometimes deviates from my plan. I become changed along the way. God seems to use the daily events of my life throughout the year, along with my daily Bible readings and the Christian books I study, to challenge me and change me and help me grow spiritually. By the time I complete the first rough draft of my novel, the themes and challenges I’ve faced in my own life seem to be reflected there. If I’ve struggled with forgiveness, for instance, I see a theme of forgiveness emerging. If I’ve resisted change in my own life, my characters seem to encounter a similar problem. The losses I’ve wrestled with become my characters’ wrestling matches as well.

As I embark on a new beginning in 2014, I wonder what new insights I will discover in the pages of Scripture, and what new challenges I will face in my personal life. I already know what some of those challenges will be, since my husband is retiring and we’re moving to a different state, leaving loved ones and friends behind. But no matter what this year may bring, I’m comforted to know that not only will God always be a constant in my life, leading and guiding me, but He already knows the ending:

“There will be no more night. They will not need the light of a lamp or the light of the sun, for the Lord God will give them light. And they will reign forever and ever” (Revelation 22:5).

Don’t you love the way God’s story begins with darkness and ends with light? May God bless you as you journey with Him in 2014.

onJanuary 6, 2014June 18, 2016inFaith

2916
0
0

Christmas in Bethlehem

The first time I visited Bethlehem more than 25 years ago, I expected to feel a sense of the beauty and simplicity of the much-loved Christmas story: a crude stable, the holy family, shepherds, wise men, and the Son of God in the manger. I was sadly disappointed. The traditional site of Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem is inside the Church of the Nativity—a truly ancient church built in 565 AD. It has survived enemy invasions, the Crusaders, restorations, renovations, a fire and an earthquake, but it looks like . . . well, a church. A beautifully decorated and ornamented church, with all the sacred clutter that has accumulated over the centuries, but it bore no resemblance to my image of what Jesus’ birthplace was like.

But wait—the real site was down a set of stairs and inside a natural cave that has been venerated as the place of His birth since 160 AD. But even this simple cave was so gilded and bedecked with artwork and tapestries and lamps and incense burners that I still couldn’t get a sense of what it might have looked like on that first holy night. In the center of the floor was a silver-encrusted star with a hole in the middle. By putting my hand inside, I could touch the place where Jesus was born more than 2,000 years ago. I tried it, but I left Bethlehem feeling empty, unable to make the sacred connection I had so longed for.

And isn’t that how so many of our Christmases end up feeling? In spite of all the tinsel and glitter and sparkle, all the money we spend and the stress we endure as we try to create the perfect Hallmark Christmas, we’re often left with the same let-down feeling I had inside that church in Bethlehem. We’ve lost the simple beauty of the story, that precious connection with God that is the true miracle of Bethlehem.

The year after visiting Bethlehem, I began looking for ways to recapture the simplicity of Christ’s incarnation. Santa Claus has never been invited to our family Christmases, and we’ve always celebrated it as Jesus’ birthday, exchanging presents because God gave us the gift of His Son. But year after year, the clutter and glitz had draped themselves over our celebrations, just like the religious trappings that have collected inside the Church of the Nativity over the centuries. That year, I purchased a nice but inexpensive manger set. I wanted something that wasn’t a toy, but that my children could handle and touch. We placed it at their level and at the center of our holiday, and began the simple tradition of gathering together as a family to fill the empty stable while my husband read the story from the Bible. Our children divided all the people and sheep and camels among themselves and when we got to their part in the Bible story, they added their figures to the stable.

This simple tradition has become so beloved by all of us that we still do it the same way every year, even though our children are now adults. Our two married children couldn’t wait to share the tradition with their spouses, generously dividing their sheep and wise men among the newest members of our family. One year, our daughter was living overseas and couldn’t make it home for the holiday but we still held our family tradition while she participated via Skype and a web camera.

And it’s always in those moments, with this simple stable and inexpensive plaster figures and my precious loved ones gathered around me that I feel the holy wonder of Christmas once again—Emmanuel, God with us!

onDecember 16, 2013June 18, 2016inFaith, Life

3661
0
0

Serving Like Jesus

Imagine your entire church congregation going on a mission trip together—men and women of all ages from senior citizens to small children. That’s what more two hundred people from my church body did last weekend, and it was amazing! Serving on a mission trip has long been on my “bucket list” but time and financial constraints never allowed it—until now. Where did we go? Not to a far flung, exotic locale, but to a place where our help was needed just as badly: our own community.

The idea for a church-wide mission trip began nearly five years ago in the middle of the recession when our congregation asked the question, how can we follow Christ’s command to demonstrate love and to serve as He did? “I am among you as one who serves,” Jesus said, and He put His words into actions by washing His disciples’ feet, one of the lowliest, unsung menial tasks there is. We decided to serve the people in our own community who had fallen on hard times—and the idea for S.O.N. Weekend—Serving Our Neighbors—was born.
Our leadership team worked with the local director of Social Services, compiling a list of more than twenty needy families, many of them senior citizens, who needed a compassionate, helping hand. We did little jobs such as painting and house cleaning and yard work, fixing leaking faucets and ceiling fans, cleaning gutters and doing general household repairs. And we tackled bigger jobs, supervised by the experts in our congregation, such as repairing roofs, installing replacement windows, and building a wheelchair ramp. Children from our congregation worked alongside their parents, and it’s been wonderful to see that our teens and young people are always among the most enthusiastic workers, and the first to volunteer. They’ve discovered the joy of giving, expecting nothing in return.
Of course, not everyone in our multi-generational congregation can do this kind of physical labor but there is still a job for everyone. Members are needed to prepare a light meal for us on Friday night, to make and deliver lunches to all the work crews on Saturday, and to prepare breakfast for the congregation and our guests on Sunday. Other members are part of the care-giving teams who spend Saturday visiting with the people we serve and praying with them. Still others take care of the youngest children in the nursery so their parents can serve. Even home-bound members join in by praying for S.O.N. Weekend activities, donating money for expenses, and creating these beautiful gift baskets that went to each homeowner we served.
Last Saturday was our fourth S.O.N. Weekend, and to be honest, I think our congregation has been blessed even more than the people we’ve helped. It has drawn us together as one family and given us the opportunity to work side-by-side with each other in ways that bring glory to Christ. On the Sunday morning after our workday, we gathered together in Fellowship Hall, all wearing our red T-shirts, to treat the families we served to breakfast before our morning worship service. Several of our guests took the opportunity to thank us and to share their reactions to being helped. One of them said, “I live alone and I thought God had forgotten me, that He no longer cared about me. But then your church came and I was overwhelmed to see that He really did love me after all. He sent His angels to be His hands and feet.”
That’s the greatest part of S.O.N. Weekend to me—that we, His humble servants who scrub floors and bathrooms on our knees, who paint rooms and wash windows and rake leaves, who climb ladders to clean gutters and fix leaky roofs, don’t do this work for our own glory. Those we serve get to see Christ in all of us, and all of the praise and glory goes to God.

onOctober 7, 2013June 18, 2016inFaith, Life

2604
1
0

Return to Me

This week I received the first copy of my newest novel, Return to Me, hot off the press. It may be my 20^th published book but the thrill never gets old. When my first novel, Gods and Kings was published in 1995, I carried the book with me all day, wherever I went, and even laid it on my bedside table at night. I was afraid that I would wake up anddiscover it had only been a dream.

I wrote Gods and Kings because I had a passion for scripture and for bringing the Bible to life for readers who may find it difficult to unders

tand. I wanted to portray the men and women in the Bible as people just like us with the same hopes and fears, facing the same challenges that we do in our walk of faith. Few publishers would consider a biblical fiction series at the time, and it took me several years of struggling and waiting and not giving up to see my dream come true. In the years since, thousands of readers have written to me, begging me to write another series like “The Chronicles of the King.” And now I have! Return to Me is the first of three books in “The Restoration Chronicles,” based on Ezra and Nehemiah. I’ve rediscovered my first passion!

The cover, featuring a priest blowing the shofar, is one of my all-time favorite covers—and not just because my husband is a professional trumpet player. The shofar has such a rich history and significance in scripture. A few examples: Abraham obeyed God by offering his son Isaac—and God provided a ram caught by its horn to sacrifice in Isaac’s place. A trumpet blast was heard on Mt. Sinai when God gave His Torah to Moses. God commanded Joshua to blow trumpets at Jericho and gave Israel a resounding victory. Trumpets are blown on the Feast of Trumpets to announce the New Year and a time for repentance. And of course the last trumpet will announce our Messiah’s return.

Earlier this month when I celebrated Rosh Hashanah with my friends and family, I learned that the sound of the shofar is a wake-up call. It’s meant to inspire awe and fear of God in those who hear it, reminding us of Judgment Day and the need to get right with Him. It’s the call of the prophets, warn

ing us to repent, and live right, and obey His Word. And Jewish tradition also says that the resurrection of the dead will be accompanied by shofars. My host on Rosh Hashanah pointed out that just as a ram’s horn grows in stages, year-by-year, so should we continue to grow spiritually and in our relationship with God. Many of the traditional dishes we ate contained honey, a reminder to savor God’s Word: “How sweet are your words to my taste, sweeter than honey to my mouth!” (Psalm 119:103).

In other words, the sound of the shofar is the voice of our loving God calling us back to Him. “Return to me,” declares the Lord Almighty, “and I will return to you.” (Zechariah 1:3) It’s the message of Rosh Hashanah and the message to the exiles in Babylon in the time of Ezra and Nehemiah. And it’s the message God speaks to you and me whenever we allow busyness and worry and the cares of this world to get in the way of our relationship to Him. “Return to Me!”

May the message of Return to Me draw you closer to God and His unfailing love.

Click Here to order “Return to Me!”

onSeptember 16, 2013June 18, 2016inBooks, Faith

4251
1
0

Which Way?

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if our lives had warning signs like the one in this photograph, letting us know when we’re heading toward danger?

I spotted this sign while hiking in Israel, and believe me, the abyss was enormous and without guardrails to keep unwary hikers from falling over the edge. I’ve been thinking about that hike a lot as I stand at an important crossroads in my life. I wish I knew which path was the right one, what dangers and challenges lay along each trail, so I could make the best choice. What if one path takes me in the wrong direction or comes to a dead end? Or an abyss?
In seeking guidance, I recall my hike in Israel. This is a photograph, taken from our hotel, of the terrain we hiked through in the Wilderness of Zin.

The Israelites traveled through this same wilderness on their way to the Promised Land—and isn’t that where we all want to end up, in the place where God wants us to be? But first we sometimes have to trek through dry, difficult places.

Only a fool would head out into this trackless waste without a guide. And without water! The path was barely distinguishable from the surrounding landscape, at times, and it would have been very easy to wander off and become lost.

The hike was challenging, the sun merciless overhead, but our guide promised us beauty—and some lessons along the way. And here is our first surprise—an oasis where we least expected it.

I noticed as we followed our guide that everyone stayed within sight of him. No one lagged behind or wandered away. He had our complete trust. And eventually we reached this beautiful valley, hidden in the middle of the vast wilderness. We also reached a dead end. The narrow path we had been following suddenly ended at this high, rocky cliff.

By now, we had been hiking for several hours and the prospect of retracing our steps beneath the blazing, afternoon sun had us pretty discouraged. Maybe we had gone the wrong way and our guide didn’t want to tell us.

He let us rest and quench our thirst. And while we did, he talked about trusting God to lead us through our wilderness times the way we had been trusting him in this wilderness. He explained how we need a full supply of water—God’s Word—stored up in our hearts during the good times so it can carry us through the bad ones.

Yes, we had reached a dead end, he said. And so often when we reach dead ends in life we panic and scramble to save ourselves, looking for a way out instead of quietly waiting and trusting God. These were good lessons to remember. But what were we going to do now at this dead end?

When we were rested, our guide led us closer to the face of the cliff. And guess what—he knew the way out all along. Straight up the side of the cliff!

It wasn’t an easy path by any means. In fact, it was terrifying in places.
Don’t let my happy smile fool you—I was shaking in my shoes!

But after an invigorating climb, we all arrived safely on top—and there was our air-conditioned tour bus, waiting to take us back to our hotel.

Today as I stand at my crossroads, I’m trusting God to help me choose the right path. If I let Him be my guide, if I follow where He leads and stay close to His side, even when the terrain is difficult, I might find an oasis or two to refresh me along the way.

I’ve been delving into His Word as I prepare for my journey, making sure I won’t run dry. And while I can expect His path to be challenging, I know there will be no dead ends. I will arrive safely at last—exactly where God wants me to be.

“He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.” (Psalm 40:2)

****If you enjoyed this Blog, you may be interested in my upcoming nonfiction work, “Pilgrimage, My Journey to a Deeper Faith in the Land Where Jesus Walked” Available this November! To order please Click Here! ***

onSeptember 2, 2013June 18, 2016inFaith, Life

3457
1
1

Living Stones

Tomorrow, July 16, my Jewish friends and family members will commemorate one of the saddest days of their calendar year—Tisha B’Av. It’s a day of fasting and mourning to remember the destruction of God’s Temple in Jerusalem. On the ninth day of the month of Av in 586 BC, the Babylonian army destroyed the temple that King Solomon built, razing it to the ground. The surviving Jews were carried into captivity in Babylon. In my newest novel, Return to Me, I tell the story from the book of Ezra, of how the Jews returned from exile 70 years later and rebuilt God’s temple.

But this second temple—which was extensively renovated in Christ’s time by King Herod—was also destroyed. The Roman army demolished it in 70 AD, just as Jesus had foretold: “I tell you the truth, not one stone here will be left on another; every one will be thrown down” (Matthew 24:2). And in a tragic “coincidence,” the second temple was also destroyed on the ninth day of the month of Av.

One of the most moving sites I’ve visited on my trips to Israel to do research is the place the Israelis call the Kotel—the wall. It’s one of the last remnants of the temple from Jesus’ day. A Muslim shrine called the Dome of the Rock now covers the site where both temples once stood. The Kotel is not part of the temple buildings themselves but is a section of the retaining wall that King Herod built to support his expanded temple platform. But it’s the place where Jews and many Christians come today to pray and worship.

In my new non-fiction book, Pilgrimage; My Journey to a Deeper Faith in the Land Where Jesus Walked, I needed a few chapters to express the multitude of emotions I felt when I visited the Kotel. One thing that impressed me was the resilience of the Jewish people, who still come to pray and worship the God of Abraham after everything they’ve endured throughout the centuries. This half-broken remnant of their destroyed temple seems like such a fitting emblem of their unquenchable faith.

God’s temple is gone—and yet it isn’t. “Don’t you know that you yourselves are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit lives in you?” (1 Corinthians 3:16). As Christians, we carry the Holy Spirit with us wherever we go. And 1 Peter 2:5 says that “you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house.” A “living stone” is one that has been quarried and chiseled and cut to fit a specific place in a building. Whenever I feel those deep cuts, I like to picture Jesus the carpenter chiseling away at all my rough edges so I will fit into the place He has chosen for me in His new temple.

Tomorrow, when I remember Tisha B’Av with my Jewish friends, my prayer will be that each of us as living stones will take our place and do our part so that His temple will be rebuilt. A world in exile and captivity needs to see God’s glory on display in us.

onJuly 15, 2013June 18, 2016inFaith, Life

4019
1
1