Context and Building Bridges

We lack context. In the Church, our government, our society, our marriages and families, context is all too often dismissed or ignored entirely.

Larry and I have an amazing marriage. There is no one on earth I would rather have a long discussion with than my husband. The subject doesn't matter. Our combined passions and giftings create an environment for new insights and ideas. It's like popping popcorn: the right temperature, an oil that can take the heat and nice, dry kernels...pop, pop, pop! God sure knew what He was doing when He brought the two of us together!

One of the things that has made our marriage strong has been our desire to grasp, appreciate and honor context. Here's an example.

Back when we were dating (although we still date!), we were driving on a snowy Massachusetts night. Larry decided it would be fun to speed up on a hairpin curve, you know, so the back end of the car would spin around. It's a guy thing! Anyway, I burst into tears and began sobbing uncontrollably. He felt terrible! I explained that my fear was due to a car accident I had before meeting him.

Here's the context. It was January and I was in a hurry to get home to pack for a business trip I was taking the next day. The Bedford, MA street department didn't keep the roads as clean as I was accustomed to in Wisconsin and Minnesota. They tended to let it pile up for a while before dealing with it...at least that's my story and I'm sticking to it! Well, as I took a curve less than a mile from work I hit several inches of slush. Slush and cars? Not a good combo! Thank God no other cars were nearby because I was in for quite an out-of-control ride ending in smacking the rear end of the car into a telephone pole. I was fine, the telephone pole was fine (thank God, or I would have had to replace it at the lofty price of $1,200!), my company car was not fine at all.

What followed can only be described as sad. No one would stop to ask me if I was OK. I tried to flag cars down but people just ignored me. I trudged up to a nearby house and no one would come to the door even though I saw footprints in the snow leading to the door and a car was parked in the garage. I felt so alone and forlorn...the days before the prevalence of cell phones. Finally, out of desperation, I got back in my car, turned around and headed back to work. I was dragging a good bit of the car behind me so it was slow going. Wouldn't you know it was then that a Bedford police officer stopped me? I explained what had happened and where I was intending to go. Since it wasn't far, he escorted me. And filled out an accident report after we arrived.

And as God always does, He made provision for me. A staff member from the department of agriculture was still at our office. He lived even farther out than I did so he was happy to give me a ride home. The snow storm was closing everything down. It was a miracle Jim was still chatting with our legislative director when I returned with my head hanging. God is so good! And the guys had a good laugh when they saw my car!

Once Larry heard the context of my tearful outburst, it made all the difference. In our eighteen years of marriage, has he ever taken corners too fast? Rarely. Has he ever tried to make the tires spin out on snowy roads? Never!

Context makes all the difference.

Scripture should never be taken out of context. 2 Timothy 3:16 says "All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness." (ESV) Shouldn't we know the context? What was happening at the time the passage was written? Who wrote it? What was God doing? What was He saying? How does the context shed light and revelation on the application of the verse?

Context applies in our government and politics.

I feel very strongly that we must continue to support Israel, at all costs. When we fail to stand with Israel, it will be our undoing as a nation. It all comes down to context. How many people know and/or appreciate the context of our relationship with Israel? Do we know what the Word says? As a nation, do we honor God's heart toward Israel?

I grew up reciting the Pledge of Allegiance every morning at school. We'd stand with our hands on our hearts and face the flag. I didn't fully understand the context of those words then but I sure do now. And there are people who are fiercely determined to remove the Pledge of Allegiance from our schools. Doesn't the context behind those words matter? Or is their offense at God being named completely negate the intent of the Pledge? Sad. Very, very sad.

Do we know our founding fathers and the vision God gave them for our country, our republic? Do we recognize how these men loved, honored and served God? Doesn't history make any difference in Congress or in politics? Just take a look at the world events of the 1930's and 40's and the parallels with today. Frightening! Let's get back to context, people!

Each of us has our own perception of things based on our experiences and what we know to be true (even though it may not be based on Truth). The only way we can have successful marriages, growing relationships with Jesus Christ, a healthy country, and a thriving society is through understanding and appreciating context.

We need sit down and talk, to truly listen and share from our hearts. That starts in our homes and goes all the way to the top of our government. Our founding fathers were against political parties. They worried that political parties would cause divisiveness. You gotta love their wisdom in that! Politics makes my heart sick...so much mistrust, anger and downright hatred. Have we actually tried to have civilized conversations - disregarding party affiliation or lack thereof - to reach acceptable, forward-moving solutions to the issues we face? Or have we become divided to the point of no return?

Context has immense value.

We have to talk! We have to understand the foundations that have been built through experience, trial and error and, most importantly, through God's wisdom and direction.

Engineers do their research before building a bridge. They know the best location, the soil, the average rainfall, how the bridge will be used (trains, vehicles or foot traffic, how many, how heavy, how often, how fast), how best to anchor it and the best resources necessary to accomplish their task. Context means everything because lives depend on it.

Bridges can be built through context. 

Bridges to our hearts, our minds, our loyalties, and our passions. Bridges of understanding, respect and honor. Bridges that can withstand the strongest gales and mightiest earthquakes.

Oh sure there are people who try to refute context, to revise it to suit their own desires and agendas. In my opinion, you can't argue with context. We may not like it or even agree with it. It may be ugly and often heartbreaking. But it is what it is. Let's look at it straight on, take in the lessons it has to teach and learn from it.

So, let's build bridges through understanding contexts, shall we?

Mouse Adventures

My childhood was one of Disney and Mickey Mouse but I was scared to death of live mice. Whether it was the shock of their appearance out of no where or how quickly they moved, I'd scream every time!

Growing up on a dairy farm, mice were a reality. They liked the grain bin most of all - MRE's for mice! But I had to shovel from that grain bin every evening. Thank God for our dogs, barn cats and a good set of lungs!

I've had house cats for much of my adult life. For you non-cat people, cats like to bring their "trophies" to their owners. I don't necessarily mind this unless the darned thing is still alive. With four cats sharing our current home, escape is futile!

Eighteen months into our marriage, I accepted a position with a farm organization in New York state - over two hours from our home in Massachusetts. During the week, I had an apartment in a small town outside Albany. I spent the weekends at to our home in Mass. The long-distance commute life began (thankfully it only lasted for eighteen months). It was in that apartment that I became desensitized to mice.

To avoid being lonely, one of our cats made the commute with me.You should have seen the looks on the faces of the toll takers when I pulled up to the booths...shock, amazement, wonder. Curled up on my dash was a large, long-haired white cat with salmon colored spots! Rafferty loved to travel by car! Upon stopping, he'd usually lift his head, yawn and go right back to sleep.

I hadn't been in the apartment long when I noticed Rafferty's food dish was emptying all too quickly. Raff was never one to refuse a meal but his food was disappearing at an astounding rate. Couple that with all the noise I heard above my head as I sat in my recliner at night. There was a party going on, no humans (or cats) invited!

One evening, as Rafferty and I were snuggled up watching TV, we saw a mouse run along the baseboards. OK, so much for my concern of being lonely! The following night, Raff caught our furry little friend and dropped it at my feet. What happened next was unlike anything I had ever seen before.

The mouse stood up on its hind legs and read us the riot act. It may not have been in any human tongue but I recognized a serious chewing out when I heard one! The mouse looked at me, at Rafferty and back at me scolding the entire time. It really was quite comical! In our shock at the tongue lashing we had just received, we let the gray four-foot scurry away.

I named our sassy new flatmate Fat and Sassy. This mouse needed "The Biggest Loser" Rodent Edition! I could only deduce that Iams cat food was to him what chocolate was/is to me.

I came home from work one day to find blood everywhere...on the stairs, on the living room carpet, on the dining room vinyl, on the bathroom floor. The quantity was remarkable. My immediate thoughts were "Dear Lord, what happened here? Where's Rafferty? Did he hemorrhage all through the apartment?"

Well, Rafferty was fine. Fat and Sassy...not so much. Raff had won what must have been an epic battle. I found the dead body of our vocal, obese little friend in the bathroom. The next thing I did was just...well...silly.

Larry would always flush the skinny field mice our cats would bring into our home in Mass. (Our poor septic system!) Anyway, without even giving it a second thought, I decided I would dispose of Fat and Sassy in the same manner. Yep, you guessed it! That chubby little dude would not fit down the toilet...I had to fish it back out! Disgusting! My outside trash can became the only place I knew to stash the corpse.

My story of mice in this apartment is not yet complete. When Rafferty and I returned from a three day holiday weekend, we heard strange, pitiful noises coming from under the kitchen sink. My curiosity got the best of me.

I had emptied my tall kitchen trash bin before leaving for the weekend but appealing odors must have lingered. I opened the cupboard and tentatively peered into the trash bin. I couldn't believe my eyes!

Jaw dropping and eyes popping, I took in the skeletal remains of two mice and two other emaciated little bodies weakly crying for help. Getting into the trash bin had been a breeze but, due to its depth, escape was impossible. It was the Bonner Party mousy style - minus the snow!

I discovered a dead body in the trash bin one other time but there was only the single incident of cannibalism. And the nocturnal rodent parties ceased.

So it's pretty clear how I became desensitized to mice, isn't it? Rafferty has been gone for several years but our mouse adventures will always be with me. =^..^=

Are Buzzards Circling?

God created buzzards to consume dead things. If you have ever seen them circling in the sky, you know something is dead or dying below them. Death is a part of life, right? Right.

A couple of years ago, a flock of Canada geese landed in a farm field a few yards from our home. I noticed one goose appeared to be injured.  I watched from afar for a couple of days. One goose stayed with the injured goose. It never went far. Since Canada geese mate for life, I can only assume it was the injured goose’s mate.

I was concerned. I sent emails and left voice mails hoping someone could rescue this injured bird. No one got back to me. Eventually even the mate was gone.

Then I saw them, the buzzards. It began with one and all too quickly a dozen had converged on the very spot where I had last seen the injured Canada goose.

Buzzards are large and, let’s be honest, they are ugly. My first encounter was on a country road. We came over a hill and right before us were two of these big birds feasting on road kill. My husband slammed on the brakes. They didn’t move quickly. We got a look that spoke “Hey, we’re eating here!”  Eventually they lifted up on their mighty wings to let us pass. That was as close as I ever wanted to get to buzzards. They give me the creeps.

The gathering of these birds so close to our home made me uneasy. That uneasiness grew when they began to perch in the trees around our house: the one hundred year old silver maple, the black walnuts, the pines.  I felt a darkness descend.

Buzzards are unclean birds. In the spirit realm, they represent evil. At the time, I didn’t have my current understanding of the spirit realm or the authority I have in Christ.  Did I ask God what their presence meant? No. Did I command them to leave in the name of Jesus? No. I’d step outside waving my arms and yelling but it merely caused them to fly off only to return moments later. I began to accept their presence despite the sense of unease it brought, despite the death they represented.

That’s been an issue for me, accepting things as simply the realities of life. In the past, I’ve come into agreement with words that have been spoken over me, illness that has afflicted me, as well as situations and relationships that brought only pain.

I just didn’t know my authority to change the atmosphere around me. I found it difficult to accept all the things God had said about me, they were contrary to much of what I had known and experienced. I didn’t see myself as Jesus’ friend. He was mine but I didn’t see myself as His. I couldn’t recognize the enemy’s hand in my physical pain and the inevitable derailing it brought.

I agreed with things that brought death, death to my God-given purpose and death to my dreams. But I also recognized there were plenty of things that needed to die in my life so I could walk into the plans and purposes God has for me.

It was imperative that certain mind sets had to die. Depending on people and things for my happiness had to die. Self-reliance had to die.

Sure, there was discomfort. I was reluctant to release some things into God’s hands. I was like a child holding onto something for dear life, shaking my head, stomping my foot and proclaiming “No”! The Lord gently reminded me of His love and His desire for nothing but His best for me. How could I argue with that? I let go.

It’s been worth it to let go of those things in my life that brought only death.

It’s been worth it to step into the liberty that is only available through Jesus Christ.

I choose life…for my dreams, for my destiny, for God to work through me.

Are there things in your life that you need to release to God, things that only bring bondage and death? Does God need to burn away the chaff so He can use the seed He has planted in you? Will you let Him?

I encourage you to go to the Lord in prayer, to seek His face and ask Him what needs to go. Be honest with yourself. More importantly, be honest with Him.

Are buzzards circling? Are you going to choose death or choose life? 

Feathers

I awoke this morning thinking of hope.

My thoughts went to

-  an unemployed single mom who is struggling to keep it together.

-  a distant cousin whose life was uprooted recently only to have her husband laid off again in a different state, far, far away from all she has ever known.

-  a friend who was served divorce papers by the husband she loves so very much.

-  a deeply wounded friend who was physically and emotionally abused beyond my imagination as a child.

-  family and friends from both sides of the aisle who are living in fear of the outcome of the upcoming election.

Hope.

From the deep recesses of my mind came the Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) poem:

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

It is a beautiful poem but I beg to differ with dear Emily. Hope does ask “a crumb of me”, of all of us. It asks us to believe, to trust, to have faith.

What or who is the source of your hope?

During Hurricane Isaac, one of the Weather Channel’s meteorologists explained how different trees fare in the high gales of a tropical storm or hurricane. Nothing compares to the palm tree. It is resilient and pliable. Its root depth exceeds its height. God gave the palm tree such an amazing root system because He knew it would face storms.

Where is your hope rooted?

There will be gales in life. Storms that will knock us off our feet, take our breath away and leave us clinging to what we know to be true. Our truth is in Jesus Christ. We need to be deeply rooted in Him. He is our hope.

Spend time with Him in prayer and reading His Word. Get to know Him. Your hope will build, your roots will grow deeper. Fear will fade.

“Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful.” Hebrews 10:23

He is faithful!

Psalm 91:4 brings us back to feathers. 

“With His feathers He will cover you, and under His wings you shall seek refuge; His truth is a shield and buckler.” (LITL)

If you are struggling with hope today, crawl under His wings. Let His feathers cover you and protect you. No greater shield exists.

The storm will pass. 

Hope will remain.