The Key is in the Lock

On Christmas Eve, 2011, as I cleaned up the dishes in the house where I have lived for over 20 years, I noticed for the first time that the antique looking door handles on my kitchen cabinets are made to resemble antique locks with the keys inserted.  That is amazing for several reasons. 

When Jimmy and I moved into this house we were not into antiques.  It was not until the kids got older and we ventured on outings with just the two of us that we began to frequent antique shops.  We slowly found a love for all things mission style from the Arts & Crafts Movement.  We began replacing our “modern” furniture with 100+ year old chairs and bookcases made of wonderful quarter sawn oak.

More recently Jimmy and I have been drawn to antique locks with the skeleton keys.  We have not been able to afford to buy any locks – they are quite expensive and desirable to collectors – but we have collected some keys.  Some are simple, utilitarian keys; some have ornate designs on the handle shaped like hearts or Victorian gingerbread.  And now I realize that this new interest, keys and locks has been staring me in the face for over twenty years.  How sweet of God to put in there years before it meant anything to me, before I could even recognize what it was, so that now I would receive it as yet another kiss from the Father.

Another development in our ever changing lives has been learning to hear God’s voice through our eyes, ears and hearts.  So when God pointed out the keys and locks on my kitchen cabinets today, I knew he was saying something special to me. As I got ready to  head up to the Christian bookstore for some last minute Christmas gifts I spied on my dresser a flameworked glass key that Jimmy had made on the torch for me.  I have been wearing it on a ribbon as a pendant.  I felt God wanted me to bring the key to the bookstore and give it to the manager, Don. Sadly, the store is going out of business after being the only Christian bookstore in the area for many years.  Jimmy and I had met Don a few weeks earlier and prayed over him for God to guide and show him the next chapter in his life. 

As I drove up the parkway I felt that God gave me the rest of the message.  I felt he was saying to me, “The key is in the lock; all you have to do is turn the key”.  Antique locks are wonderful and I would have been happy to see antique locks on my cabinet doors.  I would have been equally delighted to see handles shaped like antique keys.  But what I had was the complete package, the key right in the lock, ready to be turned, ready to open the new door, the treasure chest, the next page of my life.  It was his promise to me of his provision for the New Year.  It was his promise to the Church for her future assignments.  It was his promise to Don.  He has already given us the keys to unlock the challenges, mysteries, and assignments in front of us. 

I shared the words with Don.  I share the words now with you.  Dear Ones, embrace what God is placing in front of you.  Don’t be upset or worried about how you’re going to pull it off.  The key is already in the lock.  All you have to do is turn the key.  

Who's Your Daddy?

I remember the daddy of my childhood before my parents’ divorce in one fearful episode after the other.  I was afraid of my dad.  He was the capricious, angry authority, and you had to try to discern his mood before approaching him.  When Dad disciplined my brother one time, he took him upstairs to my parents’ bedroom and shut the door.  Although I did not see what went on I could hear my brother rolling across the floor as Dad threw him around the room, and my brother’s screams.  No wonder all five of us kids tiptoed around our dad.

I heard a pastor on the radio recently, talking about how when he heard his twin girls stirring upstairs in their room in the mornings, he would station himself at the bottom of the stairs.  When the girls emerged from their room to come down to breakfast, they would find their daddy, his arms flung wide and a huge smile on his face, waiting to enfold them in his arms.  What a very different memory those little girls will have of their dad, then I have of mine.

Thankfully, I no longer walk about as a victim of a misguided parent.  I know about the loveless upbringing my dad experienced, and I forgive him for mistakes he made.  But more than choosing not to act as a victim, or to forgive, is the fact that I am the daughter of another Father now, and I am walking in that identity.  It wasn’t an immediate realization for me when I first accepted the right God offered me to be called his child.  There were still plenty of times I tiptoed around God so as not to offend him, and tried to win his favor by doing good works.  But now I know that he’s my Daddy. 

God is the perfect Daddy.  I don’t have to hide from him, since he always knows what I am doing, what I am thinking.  I don’t disappoint him, since disappointment only results from someone not meeting your expectations for them (as so wonderfully put in The Shack).  God always knows what I am going to do whether wise or foolish, so there are no expectations involved, no disappointment that follows.  Sorrow sometimes, yes, for when I don’t choose the good things he has for me, but not disappointment in me.  Like the pastor daddy, God’s arms are always flung wide to embrace me.

And I don’t have to earn my Daddy’s favor to get in his good graces.  I know that all he wants from me is to trust him, to believe him.  The bible tells me (Hebrews 11:6) that it’s my faith that pleases him, not trying to do everything right, to perform for him. 

So here I am, loved by my Father, secure in my relationship as his chosen, adopted daughter.  I know who my Daddy is. 

Pikachu, Pikachu! Daddy’s girl, Daddy’s girl!

This morning I was helping my eight year old grandson, Owen establish his own blog where he intends to publish original Pokemon stories. Now I have to confess, I know very little about Pokemon.  But as we were researching, we discovered another Pokemon themed blog by a guy named Bob who explained something very amazing about Pokemon.  Bob states: 

“Each Pokemon has a name.  If you don’t catch what the name is, the little monster will helpfully tell you all the time.  That’s how they communicate.  Dogs bark, cats meow, Pokemon say their name.  They say it happily, sadly; they can say their names with more inflections than a surfer can say  ‘dude’.” http://radioflyer1980.wordpress.com/2009/05/29/pikachu-gesundheit/

So I asked Owen these questions:  Does a Pikachu say “pikachu, pikachu” because he is a pikachu?  Or is he a pikachu because he says “pikachu, pikachu”? Owen says, he’s a Pikachu first, and that’s why he speaks his name.  It’s all about identity.

What do I speak that lets people around me know who I am, even if they have never met me or known me?  What do my words say about who I am?  Do I walk around saying “life stinks”, or “woe is me”, or “why do the other people always win and I always lose”.  Do my words and inflection communicate that I feel like I am worthless or unloved?  Sometimes, regretfully, they do.

But that is not who I am.  So I need to take a lesson from Pokemon and start reminding myself of who I am and make sure that my words communicate that not only to those around me, but to myself as well.  Let me start here and now with these words, “said”, as Bob suggests, with a joyous, exuberant inflection, (can you hear it?): “Daddy’s girl! Daddy’s girl”. 

That is who I am.  I am a child of the Most High God, adopted into his family, precious to his heart, with all the rights of sonship/daughership including an amazing inheritance guaranteed by the deposit of his Holy Spirit living in me now.

What’s your name?

Disarmed and Dangerous.

God just did some amazing things in my family, and totally blew me away.  I was left feeling disarmed before God.  Which means that prior to this week, I was armed before God.  Let me explain.

Did you ever want something really bad, but you were afraid to ask for it, much less to hope for it?  It’s like you were holding yourself back from really going all out for what your heart was craving, because you just knew you’d never have it.  It’s like arming yourself against disappointment.

Sometimes I arm myself against disappointment, even in my prayers.  I may pray the religiously acceptable way of “Your will be done”.  That, after all, is a biblical way to pray, right? Jesus himself prayed that way in the Garden of Gethsemane.  But sometimes, if I look deep into my own heart I find that I am praying that way because I am believing lies that trap me more often than I care to admit.  “Heal that person, if it be your will,” I pray, when I am too fearful to ask for total healing based on God's word that says “By his stripes (on the cross) we are healed.”  I know he can heal, but seem to waiver on whether he wants to or not.  Such capriciousness is not what a good God looks like.  So I realize I am acting on the belief that God is not good, or that he doesn’t care, which means he doesn’t really love me. 

So when God did some major healing work in my family recently, I found myself dropping my defenses before him.  I realized that when he does things his way, the results are astounding.  I realized that I had no reason to hold myself back in safe praying, safe living anymore.  I could trust this amazing God to do what I never imagined would happen.  And do it without any help from me! 

I want to be the trusting child who comes before her daddy, asks for big things and trusts him to do big things.  He has shown me who he is, and now asks me to trust him for tomorrow, and the weeks to come.