Who has seen the wind?

Unto Thee, O my strength, will I sing: for God is my Defense, and the God of my mercy.  Psalm 59:17

David has very few kind words about his enemies, they belch out with their mouths and they make a noise like a dog, and he tells God that Thou shalt laugh at them.

And I do not want to pat weakly to one side his problems, because he truly battled real live flesh-and-blood men with swords in their lips, but I do not. For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.

When we lived at the ranch in Mexico, Food for the Hungry sent down a sort of hapless man named Steve who was supposed to try and manage Alan and his freewheeling ways, and it was a pretty awkward fit   But on some levels, upon reflection, he was a sincere sort of guy who actually didn’t complain too much when Alan housed him in a half-underground bunker at the front of the school with a burlap cot and perhaps a crate or two for his belongings.  And his roommates, whether they be college volunteers or Mexican well-diggers marveled every morning.  Because Steve, before he ducked out the door, would put on the full armor of God, invisible but very real.  The would stand by his bed, repeating these words of courage as he methodically went through the motions of fastening a belt about his waist.

Stand firm therefore, having fastened on the belt of truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and as shoes for your feet, having put on the readiness given by the gospel of peace. 

In all circumstances take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming darts of the Evil One; and take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God, praying at all times in the Spirit, with all prayer and supplication.

And really and truly these are indeed my weapons as I go out today, not to battle the early-morning Speedway traffic or surly PC computers moaning about doing graphic design, but as I battle the demons of fear, or unbelief or selfishness and catch the flaming lies of the Evil One, I do well to gird my loins with truth and be ready with the gospel of peace.   

And I totally realize that those old principalities and spiritual wickedness might seem pretty mundane compared to David’s belchers lying in wait for his soul, but I do not battle alone, and am so very much aware of the broad sweep of the Spirit reaching across the Tucson valley, across the country to lakeside Chicago and the newsrooms of New York City, and east over the oceans to the tents of Sudan, south to vibrant Guatemala City west to a five-star hotel in Shanghai, and north to an orchestra pit in Stockholm.  Every day I wield the Word of God in prayer and supplication.  And He is faithful.

But I will sing of Thy power; yea, I will sing aloud of thy mercy in the morning: for thou hast been our defense and refuge in the day of our trouble.

As a snail which melteth

Do you mighty people talk

only to oppose justice? 

    Don’t you ever judge fairly?

You are always planning evil,

    and you are brutal.

You have done wrong and lied

    from the day you were born.

Your words spread poison

    like the bite of a cobra

    that refuses to listen

    to the snake charmer. Psalm 58:4-7

This is David’s cry for justice (set to the tune of “Don’t Destroy”?). A cry that echos even more loudly today simply because we are so much more aware of the broken helplessness of the weak and humble.  And yet our hearts are hard and we bumble through our daily business untouched beyond momentary pangs that are quickly assuaged through distraction.

Dear LORD I long to engage.  Look to me. I want to be a wall builder, to stand in the gap.  Show me the place where I can plant my feet and do battle against the lies that oppress the poor and needy and mistreat the alien, denying them justice.

Dear LORD let me be sensitive to Your voice and calling and step into the fray for Your honor and glory.  Amen.

the gurgle of the stovetop expresso pot

 My heart is fixed, O God, my heart is fixed: I will sing and give praise.
Awake up, my glory; awake, psaltery and harp: I myself will awake early. Psalm 57:7-8

The heart can be fixed even while one’s mind scoots all over the place like so many proverbial herded cats.  And certainly the heart can be willing with the body protesting every inch of the way.  And yet I myself will awake early.

It is yet one more thing I do not understand, but He meets me here every morning.  Gentle yet unwavering, the light on my path is lifted high for yet one more doy.

And tucking my list of prayers into my bosom every morning comforts me as well.   He reminds me that what we see is not the end of the road, that He is at work to will His good purpose, and the list of names is a reminder of His faithfulness.

For thy mercy is great unto the heavens, and thy truth unto the clouds. The billowing sunrises. 

Awake up, oh my heart, awake,

Every day they wrest my words

Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into Thy bottle: are they not in Thy book? Psalm 56:8

He knows my wanderings.  My tears.  I am known. 

I skyped with Marco last night and he is hitting a wall smack in the face higher and harder that he has ever tried to climb before.  And God is there with him in Shanghai even in the midst of a job too crazy and too much loneliness and yes, he made Jincheng smile happily with a Chinese greeting.  And his tears are in His bottle. He is known.  

And Cate curled up with me on the couch in front of the fire and swirled a glass of red wine and told me stories.  And she has done some serious wandering since she wandered out of my seventh grade English class and Tom Sawyer and prepositional phrases and winning her public policy debate.  And her tears are in His bottle.  She is known.

And really Alan and I should get serious and sort through some of the books that are covered in very thick dust on our shelves and squished in on top and behind and there is a row of bent spiral notebooks with years and years of prayers marching across the pages, through shopping lists and little girl drawings and dead bug parts.  And my tears are in His bottle.  I am known.  

And I do not understand how the LORD of the universe manages all of His bottles dangling through the millennial, but I also do not understand how He made my hand to curl up and flex and wiggle and I can see it right in front of my face.  

And I know that the Psalmist speaks out our darkest cries, that echo back and forth through the hearts of man and are recorded in His book.    

Mickie and I were commiserating, huddled on the pool deck this morning.  We are old.  We have done this before.  We know what is good.  But every single morning, it is takes all we can muster to drop the fuzzy-lined parkas and jump into the pool.  Every single morning, And every single morning I push out of the pool, heart pounding, full of the joy of life.  

Cate looked me in the eye last night, and said, “I don’t get it.  But I know one thing, obedience equals joy.  Obedience equals joy.”

When I cry unto Thee, then shall mine enemies turn back: this I know; for God is for me.

In God will I praise His word: in the Lord will I praise His word.

In God have I put my trust: I will not be afraid what man can do unto me.

Thy vows are upon me, O God: I will render praises unto Thee.

This I know; for God is for me.

Firm footing even if life wobbles

Cast your burden on the Lord, And He shall sustain you; He shall never permit the righteous to be moved. Psalm 55:22

Part of the whole idea of righteous, or rightness, is having a clear perspective on Truth.  And by definition, the righteous know in their hearts that they cannot do life alone, on their own strength.  

And thus, they cast away.  They cast the complications that only One understands, they cast the disappointments, because only One knows the final outcome, They cast the sense of rejection and the wrongs done to them and the broken pieces because only One is love.  

And I will not be shaken or moved.  Because He shall sustain me. And the Spirit is alive and at work on this planet earth. 

Come on in the door is unlocked

 I will freely sacrifice unto Thee: I will praise Thy name, O Lord; for it is good. Psalm 54:6

One could poke and pry at the idea of a good name on many levels, but one level is the, “Hey you can trust that guy, no matter what.  Doesn’t even really need a firm grandpa-handshake, his name is good.”

And while it is straight up right to praise His name, because it is good, there is another side to the story.  The freely sacrifice bit, because His shovel is a lot bigger than my teaspoon.  And last night I was reminded of His promise of It shall be given to you, heaping and overflowing into your lap.

So I started daydreaming yesterday, as I leaned into the computer screen mid-afternoon, almost to sort of prop myself up.  All those Spelling Bees and Math Olympics and Creative Writings and the Administrators and Board program and straightening up the head of accredited schools email list so that I could send out some advertising helps before the end of the day started to fuzz a bit and I started fondling my little daydream.  Of an afternoon nap.  Thinking through how I was going to fit it in with Grandpa and not having any food in the house for dinner and wanting to visit with Jack and Mary Anne because I had been out of town for four days accrediting a school and then, well, last night was penciled in the gathering together of so many very cool devotionals into some sort of cohesiveness and then pop the February 1 PDF off to the church secretary after one more editing read through after swimming this morning.  That was the plan.  

And Gio had taught Jinsheng how to make a fire the day before which is very important, so Jinsheng built his first fire in a fireplace ever and I sliced all of my food in the house, which happened to be a spaghetti squash, in half, dashed it with olive oil and set it in the oven and slid so very deep into the sofa cushions. Down, down, and out.  

Bam, bam, bam on the knocker.  Like no one ever knocks.  

Go away.

Bam, bam.  

And there at the door was my very invited dinner guest and his friend and two bottles of wine, one red and one white because he didn’t know what I was serving and neither did I, and a box of chocolate bon bons, fresh from overseeing the entire western half of South Sudan village health initiatives, here for three days in Tucson.  

And somehow there were a few more snippets of beets to chop and there is always an onion or two and what a lovely evening it was, with visions of early morning rides across the flat expanses and tales of base camp treks in Napal and who is your favorite soccer player and whatever-happened-to questions and perfect popcorn and Alan reading White With Two Sugars (Please) to a poet readying himself for Machu Picchu and of course there was the Voice of God in the corn fields of the Dominican Republic and Giovanni bringing in more firewood to stoke the fire and bringing out the tea basket and Igor’s teapot, and yes, His name is Good.  

Somewhere in the late evening, before it swung into early morning, He swept in with eagle’s wings and lifted me past the other side of weariness.  

And He will raise you up on eagle's wings, 

Bear you on the breath of dawn, 

Make you to shine like the sun, 

And hold you in the palm of His Hand.

And all of the seven hours of stories, even the one of celebrating Christmas Day with an off-the-charts case of malaria that required a intramuscular quinine treatment in Nairobi or the handfuls-of-Castor-beans story, and certainly the Danielito the wood chopper story, are reminders that no gift is really a sacrifice because His name is good: good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over, shall men give into your bosom. For with the same measure that ye mete withal it shall be measured to you again.

I will praise Thy name, O Lord.

The breeze pushes back the heavy drapes

The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God. Corrupt are they, and have done abominable iniquity: there is none that doeth good. Psalm 53:1

I breathe the air of unbelief.  It is a constant companion tangling up my every footstep.  Lingering like the stale cigarette smoke of yesterday’s hotel room.  And much like in my hotel room, I have to stand up and open up the little-bit-sticking window and let in the fresh wind of the Spirit, even if it sends a chill down my spine, to chase away the fog of doubt or distraction or fear.   

Because truly, truly if I lived in belief I would live in joy, for He is with me.

I would live in mercy and lovingkindness, because He is merciful.

I would live in peace, for the LORD is my Shepherd.  

But that is not the case.  I lose my footing and slip into unbelief, the world wherein I am king and I battle the demons of the murky darkness of untruth, into the abominable region of self.  

There is only one who is called good.  He knew without the shadow of doubt that He was about His Father’s business.  

I believe.  Help my unbelief.