From Bethlehem to Aleppo

I prefer the sweet little baby in the manger on my shelf, the Christmas lights, and the warm fuzzy family memories made possible by the birth of Christ.  Let's just hang out there forever, because if we move forward just a few verses in Matthew, just two years on the timeline, we see with unflinching proof just WHY the world needs a Savior.  

Three chilling verses in Matthew gave me pause today.

When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men.  

Then was fulfilled what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah:

"A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more."

Matthew 2:16-18

Matthew writes this violent part of Christ's story dispassionately, more as a means to illustrate fulfilled prophesy than to say how utterly depraved this word can be.  But over the centuries artists have contemplated the Slaughter of the Innocents with deep conviction and emotion.

Bethlehem:

Genocide.  Over and over and over.  Nazi Germany.  Rwanda.  Aleppo.  So many more in between.  Have we learned nothing?  Wealth, science, evolution, education, globalism, post-modernism, war, humanitarianism...none of it has solved the dark spot in humanity.  

For this, Christ came, fled, returned, taught, suffered, died, and rose again.  For one heart at a time.

Aleppo:

Covenants and Vultures

Several of my friends have been choosing words to guide their new year.  One of my favorites is Kathy's word:  Sabbath.  Chris chose one word:  Dance.  I continue to reflect on my 3 words:  frame, scale, and aperture.  

This morning, as I read the story of Abram's aching heart in Genesis 15, I realized something.  Vultures await.  Abram was desperate for a son and scratching his head that God had not given him one yet.  

God said: You WILL have a son.  Now make a covenant with me. 

So in bloody Israelite-style, Abram carved some creatures in half as a sign that he would trust and honor God with his hopes and dreams.  

Then the vultures came...  Gen 15:11

We split open our hearts in an attempt to trust God with our deepest desires, and the scent of covenant draws the vultures.

Vultures will scavenge from Kathy's Sabbath rest.  Vultures' slow-winged descent will keep Chris from dancing.  Their hunger will keep me from living in the spirit of my three words.  They will gather and circle above us as soon as they see opportunity.  They are carrion-eaters disguised as negative voices, unchecked appetites, over-scheduled days, fatigue, illness, apathy.  

But they can be chased away.  They must.  

Then the vultures came, and Abram chased them away.  Gen 15:11

My prayer for the covenant-makers, for those of us who are always striving to live holier lives, is this:  that we will spot the vultures gathering, and we will chase them away.  

Eyes Wide Something

Ever since Adam and Eve sampled the fruit and their eyes grew horror-movie wide with everything they never wanted to know, altering the future for us all, we have tried to clamp ours shut.  

When I read news articles, I often find my eyes literally, compulsively closing.  If they are closed, then God's definition of marriage will not morph into the new word I learned today:  polymory.  AKA:  anything goes.  It's coming, people.  And historically no nation has survived it.  Chuckle if you want, but then read your history.

If I close my eyes, Mr. Duck Dynasty would not have to crudely express God's thoughts on matters of homosexuality and the media would not have to take up arms, while TV execs rub their hands together in delight.

Babies would be valued.  Slavery would be abolished.  Cancer would be eradicated.  

The curse, though, was that our eyes would be wide open.  Evil would enter the world, and we would have to see it, live it, breathe it.  It would touch each and everyone of us.  Some of us would embrace it.  Some would resist.  Some would ignore.  All of us would long for something else.  

I read recently that "God does not have a wonderful plan for our lives."  What?  But, but...that's what I've heard ever since I was a baby Christian.  It sounds so...wonderful.  I mean, Jeremiah 29:11, right?

No, the truth is, God has a wonderful plan for our eternity.  We can live pleasing and holy-ish lives, but we still reside East of Eden for now.  We might as well keep our eyes wide open, speak truth in love, and celebrate the hope of the final garden.  We will be laughed at, criticized, and persecuted for this hope.  But it is ours.    

2 Corinthians 4:16-18  So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light and momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.

From Oswald's Mind to My Heart

I won't comment on this little treasure of a paragraph from My Utmost For His Highest, Aug. 3.    I have to go cut my hubby's hair and get on with the day.  Just know that it spoke deeply to me today and will perhaps resonate with you as well.

We have no conception of what God is aiming at, and as we go on it gets more and more vague. 

God's aim looks like missing the mark because we are too short-sighted to see what He is aiming at.

 At the beginning of the Christian life we have our own ideas as to what God's purpose is--"I am meant to go here or there,"  "God has called me to do this special work";  and we go and do the thing, and still the big compelling of God remains.  

The work we do is of no account, it is so much scaffolding compared with the big compelling of God.

whew.

Buying Vowels

I have a friend who recently made a humorous quip about hating when contestants on Wheel of Fortune buy vowels right before they solve the puzzle.  They are just throwing away money! she ranted.

I wonder if I would buy the vowels, just to know for sure it would all work out.  Pay for the guarantee.  God has a different economy for our lives, though.  He turns the letters as we need to know them. He leaves some blanks.  He occasionally gives us $1000 spins, where we must make a choice that is pivotal in our journey.  

Today, a $1000 letter was turned for me.  My daughter wandered over to me in the den, looking  a little sheepish.  "What's up?" I asked.

"I'm nervous to say this," she offered, wringing her hands.

"Just say it," I smiled, wondering what was going on.

Then the tears started and she became choked with emotion.  "I want to be baptized."  I felt my own heart rise to my throat and tears leak from my eyes, and in my mind, I jumped up and down and clapped while Pat Sajak gave a sideways grin at the camera and Vanna swished her pretty dress.

I wasn't expecting this.  We hadn't talked about baptism in ages.  It was clearly God's work, not mine, which is how I'd always prayed it would be.  

A feeling washed over me, like the gratification of solving the puzzle.  Like winning the jackpot.    

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap the harvest if we do not give up.  -Galations 6:9

Celebration of Discipline: Prayer (for the right-brainer)

Confession time:  When I hear people say they experience "the power of prayer," I'm envious.  Most of the time, I feel like I'm talking to myself.  I try to devote part of my morning quiet time to prayer, but I rarely seem to get past, "Lord, thank you for this day."  Then my mind wanders to some lines from hymns or psalms, and then I'm officially distracted by "what should I do next?"  

Meditation and contemplation come more easily.  Praying with a friend or small group comes more easily, as does shooting up brief arrows of prayer in moments of need.  Is there something I am missing in personal prayer?  I suspect it is the discipline of it, like exercising a muscle that only becomes stronger with use.  

Richard Foster, in his chapter on the discipline of prayer, gives me two very useful tools for personal prayer.  First, he suggests engaging the imagination by asking God for pictures during prayer.  I'm guessing that Foster is a right-brainer, like me, opposed to prayer check lists and daily guides, and more inspired by art and metaphor.

I tried it out this week, and as I prayed for my son, God gave me a picture of a shield around this beloved young man.  I smiled, thinking of Noah's recent performance in Camelot as King Arthur, bearing a sword and shield.  This picture was further confirmed by my subsequent reading of Psalm 5 that morning, which ends with "For you bless the godly, O LORD, surrounding them with your shield of love."  Big smile!

This was a glimpse into the power of prayer.  A picture.  A scripture to confirm it.  A rush of gratitude in response.  The prayer muscle strengthened.  

The second tool is to pray expectantly.  I so often pray half-heartedly, using sacred powerful words like bless, help, protect, and guide in a routine way, as if I'm reciting from some bank of acceptable prayer words.  But if I slow down and picture an actual hand of blessing on a person, a literal grip of help, a strong shield of protection, and a guiding light upon a dark path, now there is something different.  If I become specific in my desires and as bold as the psalmists, now there is power.  If I devote myself to listening and watching for clues that God is working and answering the cries of my heart, now there is the key to unlock the mystery of the power of prayer.

Celebration of Discipline Part 1: My First Lesson

Discipline:  Meditation

"The history of religion is the story of an almost desperate scramble to have a king, a mediator, a priest, a pastor, a go-between.  In this way, we do not need to go to God ourselves."  

-Richard Foster

And I wonder, do I run to a go-between?  Ah, yes.  Books.  Blogs.  How much comfort and intrigue I find in reading other people's thoughts on spiritual matters.  Too much time with my head in their words, however, does not leave me much time to practice the Christian disciplines and make them my own.  

As I read Richard Foster's guiding words on the first inward discipline of meditation, I realize I need to close my books, switch off the computer, open the curtains to reveal a windowful of created inspiration, quiet my heart, center my prayer, and breathe. 

Unlike eastern meditation, in which the goal is detachment from the material world, Christian meditation is meant to form an attachment to God, to linger in the quiet space long enough to make that mental pilgrimage to the throne room.  

Pick a space.  Make it pretty and comfortable.  Tell the kids about it so they are thoughtful and gentle with their inevitable interruptions.  Better yet, rise before they awake.  Here is mine...

Employ the imagination.  Jesus made constant appeals to our imagination when he taught through image-driven parables.  One morning I pictured a shield around my son, who is often in my prayers as he navigates new territory.  I drew the image in my journal and found corresponding psalms to pray for him.  Oh, the fruit of meditation.

I am drawn to the art of lectio divina, or sacred reading, to guide my meditation.  Slow, deliberate, searching, reflective, responsive.  Some people are motivated by reading through their Bibles in a year, but I've found this disheartening and empty.  Others love inductive study, looking up word roots and cross-references.  I would rather approach my time in the Word like Bonhoeffer, completely enveloped in one verse for a week, over skimming four chapters a day or flipping around in my Bible.  But this is just a personal preference at this point in my life.  

Otium sanctum means holy leisure, and I've found that it can be employed in a busy life by first setting aside time to meditate and by cultivating an attitude of prayer throughout the day.

"There is a way of ordering our mental life on more than one level at once.  On one level we may be thinking, discussing, seeing, calculating, meeting all the demands of external affairs.  But deep within, behind the scenes, at a profounder level, we may also be in prayer and adoration, song and worship, and a gentle receptiveness to divine breathings."

-Thomas Kelly

Time for me to close the books, turn off the laptop, and practice.  

Discipline. A Celebration? Really?

As I grabbed books from boxes and speed sorted them like a librarian onto the rummage sale table, I paused when my hand held the book Celebration of Discipline by Richard Foster.  I was working at a fundraising rummage sale sorting hundreds of donated books last Friday, chuckling at prizes like Wisdom for the 1987 Graduate, which was in a box with a half-opened package of male Depends (which promptly sold, by the way!) and not seeing much to capture my attention... until this moment.  

Richard Foster, the modern Quaker theologian contemplative, is a voice in the desert for me.  I've read his words just about every morning for months as I've worked my way through Classic Devotions and Spiritual Classics, books in which he has selected and commented on numerous classic writings.  Do you know when a voice is like a cold drink of water on a sweltering day?  That's how his voice is to me.  I drink it up as he introduces me to the writings of the classic saints and mystics and deep spiritual thinkers.  Sometimes I scratch my head and wonder what I just read from some 12th century monk, and then Foster sweeps in to illuminate the timeless heart of the message, and I say, "ohhhhhhh, I get it."

I've been wanting to read Celebration of Discipline for a long time, but frankly, the title scares me.  I am SO not disciplined.  I am creative, spontaneous, artistic (words I like) along with being a weak finisher of my grand ideas, a leaper from this to that, and an expert of nothing (words I dislike.)  But here was the book in my hand for a mere $1, and I thought...it's now or never.

So I'm going to take you along on this journey and interpret what I read through the lens of a 21st century wife, mother, homeschooler, songwriter, comfort lover, sinner, quitter.  Here is your "I might quit half way through" warning.  If that's the case, I will make it through the #6 discipline of solitude and then just quietly disappear by some lake in Northern Minnesota, and you'll understand.  You can go get your own book at that point.

Will this really be a celebration?  Time will tell.

Spirituality and Service: Inseparable Twins

My friends and I often refer to Marys and Marthas.  In the well-known story from Luke 10, the sisters choose differently in responding to a visit from Jesus.  Mary sits with him and soaks in his presence.  Martha tends to everyone's physical needs.  

We sometimes debate who was right, which is silly, because both are right, both are needed, both are a sign of maturity.  Spirituality and service are inseparable twins that need to rest at the heart of each of us.  My best days are spent being Mary in the early morning hours and Martha the rest of the day.  If I sit in quietness and pray God will show me how to meet people's needs the rest of the day, I must be careful not to begrudge the opportunities to serve.  

And each thing is an opportunity:  to quiet the children's quarreling, to be the teacher and cab driver, the encourager of friends, the helping hands for those in physical need, the open purse for those in financial need.  The key is not to let the pendulum swing too far to either side so that we exhaust ourselves in service or cloister ourselves in self-care.

We need to teach and model this for our kids.  Some are natural servants, others must be forced into it.  Some are inclined toward spiritual things, others must be taught the discipline of it.  Both are rewarded in the end because they are taught what matters to God.  Growth in these areas is a process requiring much diligence and grace...for all of us.  Don't shame them for their perceived inadequacy in either area.  Always encourage!  (I'm telling this to myself, first!) 

Last week I had the privilege of serving my beautiful friend, Emma.  As I and many others painted walls in her new home, we talked about her vision for her home, where it could be a gathering place and a stop-by-anytime kind of home.  I know it will be like that.  She sits and listens to you like Mary, but she makes sure you have coffee in your cup like Martha.  She does all this while living with breast cancer's harsh effects on her mind and body.  

I love the bothness and oneness of God's design for our lives.  

Listen then to this wonder!  How wonderful it is to be both outside and inside, to seize and to be seized, to see and at the same time to be what is seen, to hold and to be held. 
-Meister Eckhart

The Laundry Psalm

Dirty laundry.  It's a very real part of my life with three hard-playing, dirt-loving children. 

Monday is laundry day at our house: the kids sort it, I run up and down the stairs six or seven times to transfer the loads, fold or hang, and place the warm, clean items in one of four baskets. On Tuesday, the kids match socks, fold towels, and put it all away.  We have a slick system, and in the middle of the homeschool day, I don't mind the occasional retreat to the laundry room. 

I wish I could say I pray for my children as I fold each shirt and try to figure out whose underwear is whose, but I'm more likely to play a Miss Piggle Wiggle game...to imagine how efficiently I can get the job done before the sinister queen comes to analyze my work.  Miss Piggle Wiggle has been more inspiring to me than any of the self-help authors I've read on home organizing.  Truly.  She's a psychological genius. 

But what about the other dirty laundry?  The inner-grime.  The dirt I can more easily hide.  Did you know God wrote a laundry psalm on David's heart?  It's not a particularly fun one to read; you won't be thanking the good Lord for knitting you in your mother's womb or for creating the firmament with His mighty hand or for leading you to quiet waters.  Instead, your face will be right up in the smelly armpit of your own stench. 

Now don't x-out of my blog quite yet! 

You get to read of being washed clean and snowy white, like the warm, fluffy towel load spilling from the dryer. 

I sometimes like to memorize whole psalms.  I chose this one, Psalm 51, to write on the tablet of my heart on Monday.  I am memorizing the NIV version, but this morning, I opened up The Message version out of curiosity.  Wah-lah...the laundry metaphor.  Eugene Peterson, you were thinking of all us laundry washin' mamas when you translated this passage, weren't you?

Psalm 51

^1-3Generous in love—God, give grace! Huge in mercy—wipe out my bad record.
Scrub away my guilt,
soak out my sins in your laundry.
I know how bad I've been;
my sins are staring me down.

^4-6 You're the One I've violated, and you've seen
it all, seen the full extent of my evil.
You have all the facts before you;
whatever you decide about me is fair.
I've been out of step with you for a long time,
in the wrong since before I was born.
What you're after is truth from the inside out.
Enter me, then; conceive a new, true life.

^7-15 Soak me in your laundry and I'll come out clean,
scrub me and I'll have a snow-white life.
Tune me in to foot-tapping songs,
set these once-broken bones to dancing.
Don't look too close for blemishes,
give me a clean bill of health.
God, make a fresh start in me,
shape a Genesis week from the chaos of my life.
Don't throw me out with the trash,
or fail to breathe holiness in me.
Bring me back from gray exile,
put a fresh wind in my sails!
Give me a job teaching rebels your ways
so the lost can find their way home.
Commute my death sentence, God, my salvation God,
and I'll sing anthems to your life-giving ways.
Unbutton my lips, dear God; 
I'll let loose with your praise.

I think I will print this version and post it in my laundry room.  Won't that upset the wicked queen!

Eucharisteo: The Hard Thanks

If you have read A Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp, you will understand what I mean about giving "hard thanks." 

She elaborates on the word eucharisteo, which refers to the painstaking gratitude Christ displayed when at his last supper, he broke the bread and gave thanks, knowing in his bones that he would soon die a slow and painful death.  This incredible book inspired me to put the Greek word on my wall as a reminder of how to live.

I've been thinking about stories old and new of people who have learned the art of eucharisteo, this life-filling gratitude.  I think of Corrie Ten Boom engaging in eucharisteo over moldy bread in a Nazi concentration camp and how it led to reconciliation with Nazi prison guards.  Every missionary book we have read over the years has told a story of struggle mingled with thanksgiving. 

Gratitude rescues us.

In the past few weeks, I have been drawn into multiple stories of people in my own circle of life with heavy burdens, painful surprises, longsuffering...broken bones, broken spirits, car accidents, husbands struggling with lust, children struggling with the world, chronic illness, confusion about God, bankruptcy, long health recoveries, suicide, death. 

So much grappling with pain and disappointment and dreams deferred.  I pray for these precious souls.  I wait and see if they will claw their way toward eucharisteo.  It can be a long, bleeding fight out of the pit of despair to the communion table, but those who find their way are blessed beyond measure. 

I have done it several times in my life.  Given the hard thanks for the worst of things.  I can attest to this: 

The overpowering grace of God trumps the pain of the fall every time.   It's what keeps me coming back to the table again and again. 

"In this world you will have troubles, but I have overcome the world!" John 16:33

Crossfire on the Homefront

One child:  peace.  Two children:  squabble.  Three children: warfare.  In our home lately, I have had to dodge the crossfire of words, angry looks, jabs and pokes.  I never know if it's going to turn into grumbles, tears, whines, or blows (no blows yet!), or how much to intervene.  Dr. Lehman suggests putting them together in a confined space until they work it out.  I might try that.  Is the coat closet too tight?  Another parenting expert said, "If you just spend 30 minutes a day with each of them doing what they want to do, they will not misbehave."  I wish I had an hour and a half every day to leisurely play.  Not on Planet Pearson!

Nurture.  One of my three words for 2012.  How can I nurture them through this?


The best I could come up with this morning was to revisit Galatians 5:22-23.  We gathered in the living room, opened our Bibles, and read together,  "And the fruit of the Spirit is:  love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control." 

The kids copied down the verse and then made a column of "opposites."  Hate, sadness, turmoil, worry, impatience, cruelty, evil, betrayal, harshness, impulsiveness.  I wish I could say they all put on their haloes and started sprouting fruit, but in the very midst of the devotional, they engaged in sharp responses and finger-pointing. 


I lit a candle and reminded them we have the Holy Spirit in us like a fire.  It can shed light on all this beautiful fruit in us. Then I blew out the candle and told them that our attitudes can snuff out the flame.  We become dark.  We leave behind the stench of smoke. 

We each chose a quality to work on for the day and prayed about it.  One chose kindness.  The second chose peace.  The third chose self-control.  I chose gentleness.  Our prayers were sincere.


By snack time, they were already quarreling, insisting they were innocent and another was causing the trouble. 


"She's whistling again." 
"He's being mean."
"She's asking dumb questions." 
"Moooooooom!"


I quickly felt my own flame sputtering.  I could smell the tendrils of smoke.  My eyes darkened with all that is opposite of Spirit fruit.  I turned my back to them, placed my palms on the cool counter, bridled my tongue, breathed deeply, and prayed the kids would hear themselves.  See the sin.  See the need for more of God. 


And then, suddenly, they were laughing big, hearty laughs.  Is that a flicker of a flame I see?  Is that a drip of sweet nectar I taste?  I joined the laughter as I swept off crumbs from the counter and told them, "This is Joy, kids, this is Joy.  Let's live here for awhile."  And we did.  For awhile.

Almost 40

This post is dedicated to K.B., who knows why.

As we sat in the bright room, waiting for our littles to audition for a local theater production, we moms circled up for that rare half hour to laugh and re-connect.  When the topic of my blog came up, one mom nodded knowingly.  "Oh, yes, I read your last blog.  I remember having the same conversation with my husband a while back.  You're 40, right?"

That caught me off guard.  "Well, almost 40." 

Her:  "Mmm-hmm.  That's what I thought."

Me:  "What, you can tell my age by my blog?"

Her:  "Well, yeah."

Me:  "That's amazing.  I'm going to blog about that."

It was like the "psychic" at the county fair who guesses your age.  You think, no way, he'll totally think I'm younger than I actually look.  And then he nails it.  You think, shoot I need to make an appointment for a fresh hair color.

I remember sitting at a Hearts at Home conference a long time ago.  A gorgeous woman was giving a concert for all us moms.  I can't remember her name, but I remember when she announced that she was 40 and everyone gasped.  Seriously, she looked all of 25.  I decided to try it at my last concert.  I mentioned my age.  No one gasped.  Shoot, definitely time for a fresh color!

I am not obsessed with age, or hair color for that matter.  I love the wealth of experience and wisdom that comes with chugging down the timeline.  I value these things more than youth.  But it's disconcerting when someone guesses your age based on what kinds of things you are blogging. 

I'm trying to figure out how to throw everyone off.  Let's see....watch for upcoming titles:  My Secret Crush on Justin Beiber, When Your Husband Forgets Your First Anniversary, How to Decorate Around Mom's Old Couch and 2 Garage Sale Chairs,  20 Recipes for Ramen Noodles. 

Yeah, I don't want to go back there.  But I do like this thought from Job 33:24-26.

let their flesh be renewed like a child’s;
let them be restored as in the days of their youth’—
then that person can pray to God and find favor with him,
they will see God’s face and shout for joy;
he will restore them to full well-being.

Well-being, with the smooth skin of a child.  Heavenly.

The Top Resolutions You Should Resolve To Do Until You Lose Your Resolve and Eat the Bag of Chips

My inbox has been inundated with suggestions for New Year's resolutions from various bloggers and websites I follow.  The taglines read:  The Top 5 Resolutions for Families in 2012, The Only Resolution You Need, Why Resolutions Don't Work, 52 Projects for Your New Year, and on and on.  I read them all, while munching on chips I should be avoiding based on one of my resolutions.

I can't neglect to mention that I contributed to the fray with my recent post:  My Three Words for 2012. 

I can't help that I love the fresh canvas of a new year.  I'm hardwired that way.  I read in Isaiah 43, "I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?" and I get all jittery and excited and empowered with anticipation.  What are you going to do, God? 

Then I read down a little further in Isaiah, pause, read it again:

"...you did not call on me...you have been weary of me..." 

"...you did not call on me...you have been weary of me..." 

Oh, dear, did He notice I didn't pray yesterday?  Did he see how I was bored at church; how my worship was stale and stilted?  Did he catch me trying to cut the fabric between the sacred and secular, when His design is for one continuous thread?  Why am I eating all these chips?

My heart's desire is that all this talk of new things and new ways and new projects would lead me deeper unto God, not reveal that I'm just plain weary of Him, of this following after and need a distraction.

And then again, perhaps this is Grace.  His gift of new ideas and fresh streams in the desert so that I may be renewed and be a voice that renews and inspires others to continue in the pursuit of God and self-improvement.

With a heap of grace and a side of chips.

From Herald to Servant

Of this gospel, I have been appointed a herald.  2 Tim 1:11

I have claimed this verse for the last four years, joining Paul thousands of years after he penned the phrase to Timothy, sensing that God had put me together with a penchant for words and tunes so he could use me as His instrument.  It even inspired a Christmas song and CD entitled "Herald."  It has been a wonderful endeavor, singing my little songs to audiences large and small, heralding the good news. 

But I am at a crossroads.  The momentum is slowing, and honestly, I have been grateful for the respite from the heavy load of concerts in 2010.  It was hard to be a herald, and a mom, wife, teacher, daughter, friend.   I am set to record another CD, which ramps up the momentum, but I hesitate.  What does God want of me right now in this demanding season of motherhood? 

Today, in Ephesians 3, my attention fell to the 7th verse:

Of this gospel, I have become a servant.

Is that the key to one of my 3 words for 2012:  nurture?  I "take on the very nature of a servant?"  That means I would intentionally set out to put others before myself.  I would put down my music and look for ways to serve.   That is not easy for a selfish creature such as myself.  I think it might take as much energy as being a herald.  No, it would take more, because "heralding" comes with certain accolades and perks.  "Serving" is thankless, quiet, secret, humble, self-sacrificing. 

Oh, how I have prayed to have the mind of Christ, my Savior.  The evidence speaks for itself:  He was not a herald.  He was a servant.  (Phil. 2:5-11)