Looking Back

One year ago today, I shut myself into our SUV and sobbed as we drove away from the dearest faces on earth. I followed the square yellow truck northwards, through sleepy Southern towns and flooding Georgia cities, through awe-inspiring mountain passes and quiet peaceful forests. And finally, Maryland. 

A year later, I'm back, and I'm so much richer than I was but one year ago. I've gained more dear, darling faces that I weep to leave. I've gained another home in the beautiful hills of Maryland. I've gained stories of my King's faithfulness and love in times of deepest struggle. I'm back, and I'm blessed. 

One song rings through my mind as I look back on the eighteenth year of my life, the hardest, most painful and the best, most beautiful year of my life. One song in particular that looks backward and marries the tears and the pain with the joy and the hope found only in God.

I never have and never will walk alone.

Standing on this mountaintop

Looking just how far we’ve come

Knowing that for every step

You were with us

Kneeling on this battle ground

Seeing just how much You’ve done

Knowing every victory

Was Your power in us

Scars and struggles on the way

But with joy our hearts can say

Yes, our hearts can say

Never once did we ever walk alone

Never once did You leave us on our own

You are faithful, God, You are faithful

Kneeling on this battle ground

Seeing just how much You’ve done

Knowing every victory

Was Your power in us

Scars and struggles on the way

But with joy our hearts can say

Never once did we ever walk alone

Carried by Your constant grace

Held within Your perfect peace

Never once, no, we never walk alone

Never once did we ever walk alone

Never once did You leave us on our own

You are faithful, God, You are faithful

Every step we are breathing in Your grace

Evermore we’ll be breathing out Your praise

You are faithful, God, You are faithful

You are faithful, God, You are faithful

(Never Once, Matt Redmon)

Happiness

From my notes today:

I heard a song today called "Happily Ever After." It felt so right for what I've been mulling over recently. As my future looms ahead, my future as a student away from home, as an adult, as a woman, I keep wondering what my life will look like in the next five years. So much promises to change. What will my story be?

I ask with the singer, "Will I be happy?"

But what has consumed my thoughts so much recently is the "what if" that hovers in the corner of the room -- what if I'm not? What if my little jar of hopes and dreams shatters before me and none of my dreams come true? I'll never be happy, right?

Wrong. My happiness is up to me. Why would I limit myself to happiness only if this? Only if I get this and that?

I will be happy, because happiness is a choice, one that I alone can make.

Love Lustres at Calvary

My Father,
Enlarge my hear, warm my affections, open my lips,
    supply words that proclaim, 'Love lustres at Calvary.'
There grace removes my burdens and heaps them on thy Son,
    made a transgressor, a curse, and sin for me;
There the sword of thy justice smote the man, thy fellow;
There thy infinite attributes were magnified
    and infinite atonement was made;
There infinite punishment was due,
    and infinite punishment was endured.
Christ was all anguish that I might be all joy,
    cast off that I might be brought in,
    trodden down as an enemy
        that I might be welcomed as a friend,
    surrendered to hell's worst
        that I might attain heaven's best,
    stripped that I might be clothed,
    wounded that I might be healed,
    athirst that I might drink,
    tormented that I might be comforted,
    made a shame that I might inherit glory,
    entered darkness that I might have eternal light.
My Saviour wept that all tears might be wiped from my eyes,
    groaned that I might have endless song,
    endured all pain that I might have unfading health
    bore a thorny crown that I might have a glory-diadem,
    bowed his head that I might uplift mine,
    experienced reproach that I might receive welcome,
    closed his eyes in death that I might gaze on unclouded brightness,
    expired that I might for ever live.
O Father, who spared not thy only Son that thou mightest spare me,
All this transfer thy love designed and accomplished;
Help me to adore thee by lips and life.
O that my every breath might be ecstatic praise
    my every breath buoyant with delight, as I see my enemies crushed,
    Satan baffled, defeated, destroyed,
    sin buried in the ocean of reconciling blood,
    hell's gates closed, heaven's portal open.
Go forth, O conquering God, and show me
    the cross, mighty to subdue, comfort and save.

~ Valley of Vision

Worship

"The tower on the hill," 

she replied, 

"is the home of Truth, 

and He would have you learn to obey His word. 

For He is the Father of Faith, 

who created you all, 

giving you a body and five senses 

with which to worship Him 

while you dwell below." 

-Piers the Plowman, William Langland

(emphasis added)

Awake and Arise

All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing. 

::    Edmund Burke    ::

"for at one time you were darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Walk as children of light (for the fruit of light is found in all that is good and right and true), and try to discern what is pleasing to the Lord. Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness, but instead expose them. For it i shameful even to speak of the thins that they do in secret. But when anything is exposed by the light, it becomes visible, for anything that becomes visible is light. Therefore it says,

"'Awake, O sleeper,

and arise from the dead,

and Christ will shine upon you.' "

"Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil."

Ephesians 5:8-16

Home

From my Journal
23 March 2012
1:22 am

I am constantly thinking to myself how much I want to go home. Nearly every other journal entry begins or ends with that confession. But the more I consider, the more I recognize that home is not there anymore. This home that I long for is a childhood memory with all the rosy hues of its kind. It's a place and a time forever enshrined in memory when hardship was a foreigner and tragedy restricted to the theater. My eyes and ears were young and innocent, unpolluted by cynicism, callousness, and pain.

Once a soul lives long enough he or she finds that a true home cannot exist on this earth, in this world -- not that I have resigned myself to some kind of chaotic, depressive world. No. This earth is still green, there is still beauty in the broken, and the Lamb is still on the throne, worthy of glory and honor and adoration and praise.

There is so much goodness in this land, and yet there is not enough to truly tie me to it, for I have tasted -- only just tasted -- true, unspoilt, desperately deep love. I tasted it at the cross and daily my mouth waters for more. It is only natural that I feel not at home here. I am evermore a foreigner in a strange place, a sojourner in a broken land. I'm an ambassador from a world I've never been to, but a city I'm a citizen of,  a home I will always be homesick for.

In Search of Spring

In Search of Spring

A poem in honor of a childhood slipping onto the pages of history and a womanhood waiting to be written.

I come out in search of Spring today,
That ever bonny nymph,
The carefree sprite
Of color and life,
The dear companion of my youth.

She ever was my faithful friend,
Regardless of year or season,
Whatever they say,
Even winter days,
For spring lives in lands beyond reason.

For Spring, to me, was not bound by time,
As a wand'ring gypsy lives unconfined.
March until June,
And she must be through?
A more unthinkable thought was not harbored.

So dear, laughing, lovely Spring,
Imaginative, mischievous, playful Spring,
A bringer of life,
A killer of strife,
Wove round my heart like Irene's string.

But time must pass and youths must grow
And labor over words and sums,
So playtime wanes
And the heart does pang
For the sunny days of eternal Spring.

But today, I come to play again
And have a jolly springtime.
Yet though I call
And call and call
My childhood chum stays away.

Where has she turned her brilliant eyes?
And where are her tawny curls?
And her ivory hands?
And her ruby lips?
And her voice, the envy of birds?

Can it be that I -- I? even I? --
The eternal, hopeless elf-friend
Could have grown
Enough to be alone,
Forsaken by the elves and fairy dust?

"It cannot be," is my resolution,
So harder I resume my search.
And, lo, I see
Faint as can be
The evidence of my darling Spring.

She is not gone forever, no,
But eternally she is changed.
Or perhaps it is
I who lives
In a different way than before.

Perhaps children do grow and learn
And some forget the fairy folk.
But those like I,
Who'd rather die,
Remember them always when grown.

For Spring did return today,
Though she lives beyond my call.
She lives in the breeze,
In the waves of the sea;
Her dress virgin moss, grass, and flower.

Her voice echoes through my womanhood now
In the song of the bird and the shore.
Her body still warms,
In the sun's golden arms,
And the stars are still her jewels.

So I, like Wendy, now leave Neverland
To make room for my own dear child.
She will play
With Spring someday,
And I will bask in memories wild.

Dance in the Streetlight

I sat outside on the front porch this evening, swaddled like a babe 'against the chilled night air. Trying to imagine away the rushing current of cars driving past, I looked up at the stars in all their flaming glory and at a solitary wisp of cloud sailing along the black sea. Distant chimney smoke wafts across the lawn, and a lonely airplane, naught but a starry light, creeps across the sky. I know that up there in that aerial transport people, as large and living and breathing as I, eat, speak, and sleep. But somehow, from earthbound perspective, I just can't fathom that.

 The night is perfectly beautiful, marred by only two things: the traffic noise and a streetlight. Traffic noise can, with willpower and an imagination, be willed away. Yet that orangey hue cannot. It slashes it's way through my picturesque scene like a paper cut through my finger.

Suddenly I am struck by how terrified I have been of those horrid street lights the past few years. They're not the pleasant lamposts one reads of in Narnia; they're the spine-chilling, heart-gripping sort just waiting for action heroes to race through or their nemeses to cower just beyond, gun loaded and cocked. I'd rather trust my (admittedly over-active) imagination to the pitch black than to those menacing lights. But then as I pondered such dismal thoughts -- and, I confess, felt the slightest tremblings within my gut -- a beautiful memory flooded my mind.

I was back in my hometown, in the heart of it, just off Palm Blvd., and I was young. A kindred spirit and I flitted about her front lawn. We were girls one minute and fairies the next. Of course Chloe was a dark fairy; nothing else would do. I was a mixed breed: earth fairy, to suit my infatuation with all things green; water fairy, to excuse my midnight swims; and light fairy, to appease Chloe's insistence that blond hair made it a foregone conclusion. And you now what I did? I danced in a streetlight.

One sat sentinel in the farthest corner of their property, and in my girlhood innocence, I filtered it into our game. I was a queen of the fairies with light exuding from every pore of my elven skin, as the moon in George Bailey's dream. And so the light fell on me and I danced like Tinuviel or Titania. Of course there was an enemy lurking in the shadows; Chloe always was in our fantasies.

As I relived that sliver of childhood with vim and vigor, I stared down that beaming pillar. I stared it down, and slowly all its Bourne-esque ambiance melted, and am eleven year old fairy queen danced before me. I cannot speak for all of humankind, but if one must let loose one's imagination on a lamplight, isn't it nicer to dance in its rays rather than dread its gaze?

... He will not lie; the man is far too wise. ...

The Odyssey

Save the Libraries

Prompt: If you were given $5000, how would you use it to promote education in your community?

The cool, quiet of a building of books has never failed to cheer my spirits, to enliven my imagination, to broaden my horizons. Libraries are my favorite places under heaven, places like no others, but soon to be places of the past. On an extended vacation, I drove block after block searching for a public library, to no avail. Friends explained: libraries all over town had closed for renovations but never re-opened -- budget cuts and zero interest, the serial offenders.

As Cicero stated, “A room without a book is like a body without a soul,” so a community without books is soulless, lifeless, and ignorant. Libraries, the homes of books, are essential to education but are viewed today as luxuries, evidenced by the ruthless budget cuts. We strive to save the earth, the lost, the manatees, but who will rescue the libraries? With the proper funds and special events, libraries can woo citizens back: regular toddler’s story-times, children’s homework helps, modern resources for teens, book clubs for adults, family enrichment evenings, educational lectures, and book drives for charity. 

After a class, I zipped down the road and into the children’s corner, my favorite spot in my library, only to find it empty. Not a soul, not a sound inhabited that room -- only the walls, the shelves, and the books. With five thousand dollars, I hope to banish empty libraries in my community. May their memory be erased and libraries eternally be beacons of knowledge.

Scholarship applications are one facet of my life right now. ;-)

January 14, 2012

My meditation for the day has been Psalm 121: "I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? My help comes from the LORD, who made heaven and earth. He will not let your foot be moved; he who keeps you will not slumber. Behold, he who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The LORD is your keeper; the LORD is your shade on your right hand. The sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon by night. The LORD will keep you from all evil; he will keep your life. The LORD will keep your going out and your coming in from this time forth and forevermore."

A somber passage to be my January soul-song, my driving anthem for a new year. Yet this year of all years I am reminded that sin is present, that suffering is rampant, that hurt is acute. I am reminded that sadness, loneliness, bitterness, and tears are part of the package of a sojourner in this land. I am reminded that our plans, ideals, and desires really mean nothing in light of eternity. The fact of the matter is that we are a people who have wrecked havoc on this land through our selfishness and pride but that there is a God, and He reigns over all with a omnipotent, sovereign, yet merciful and loving hand.

So while sacrifice and pain and ridicule and fear will always be a way of life on Earth, while dreams dashed and plans gone awry will always be mingled with joy, while feelings and relationships will always be hurt, we have a promise of comfort.

In the midst of conflict, even I, with nothing to resent nor complain about, will shed tears and fear the future. Yet in this moment of darkest night, I have felt more comfort and un-alone than I have felt in months. For indeed, I realize now that trials are not necessarily to test our faith or to ensure the depth of it. This trial, at least, is giving me sight of the fruit of my faith. This evening as I sat on my bed, eyes dry and a-burning from tears and body exhausted from a day-like-eternity, I felt the presence of my God. I felt Him, I saw Him, I spoke to Him. He saw me, He embraced me, He spoke back.

Faith is a struggle, dear ones. Never will we sojourners come to a point in this foreign land when faith will be easy or constant. Faith is a fight, a fight 'gainst great beasts of the Enemy. But faith is a fight well worth the taking. For -- listen and believe, friends -- in times of need, our faith will be rewarded with peace, comfort, hope, and sight.

I do not understand everything;

I do not welcome every piece of my life.

But there is hope beyond understanding,

And there is peace to be found in strife.

Take heart, O downcast soul,

Take heart, again I say.

For tomorrow the dawn will come,

Tomorrow will be a new day.

There will be time for tears,

But there will be time for laughter.

If not in this life and world at present,

Then in the Promised Land ever after.

Christmas Meditations

Feast your soul...

Every Christmas Has Its Cares

Nativities and Pruning

(Gerrit van Honthorst, The Nativity)

Today I set up our nativity. As I unrolled each wooden figurine from its cozy cocoon of brown paper and fingered each familiar carved face, I mulled over all that God has done with me in the past year, specifically all the pruning the Gardener has done in my patch. As God has shed this Christmas of all its pleasant extras -- sparse decking of halls, few gifts to give and receive, next to no dear ones to share it with -- I realized how God has been shedding my soul of bonuses, too.

He's cut away so much legalism, all my man-made rules and self-sufficient "salvation"; he's cut away so much baggage from my relationships, the pent-up bitterness and distance from years of tension; he's even cut away much of my perception of self. I'm left with the bare-bones, glorious Gospel, the precious, worthy-to-be-cherished friendships, and the core of who I am by His creative power and through His redemptive blood.

Gone are the trappings and trimmings that I once thought were my faith, my friends, my self. Gone are they with the Christmas garlands and gifts and guests. Here to stay, forever on earth and through eternity, are the pure and simple truths of Scripture.

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, even as he chose us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and blameless before him. In love he predestined us for adoption as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will, to the praise of his glorious grace, with which he has blessed usin the Beloved. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace, which he lavished upon us, in all wisdom and insight making known to us the mystery of his will, according to his purpose, which he set forth in Christ as a plan for the fullness of time, to unite all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth.

"*In him* we have obtained an inheritance, having been predestined according to the purpose of him who works all things according to the counsel of his will, so that we who were the first to hope in Christ might be to the praise of his glory. In him you also, when you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and believed in him, were sealed with the promised Holy Spirit, who is the guarantee of our inheritance until we acquire possession of it, to the praise of his glory.'

-Ephesians 1:3-14 (emphasis added)

"And you were dead in the trespasses and sins in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience—among whom we all once lived in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind. But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved—and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them."

Ephesians 2:1-10

"For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given;
and the government shall be upon his shoulder,
and his name shall be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace."

- Isaiah 9:6

Merry Christmas.

Take Them Captive

Bam!

A sudden pain bolted its way through my head, burning and searing whatever's in there as it went. Pained and angered and exhausted all at the same time, I threw down the vacuum handle and rushed out of the room, glaring icily at the assailant, a sharp shelf's corner. Holding my head in my hand, I dove into the coolness of my pillows and heaved a huge sigh. Then, down flooded the tears.

But it wasn't just the pain of a bruised brow that let loose the floodgates. As quickly as I ran retreated across the hallway to my bedroom, my mind ran over all the grievances it could possibly find, not just reaching back through the past day or week, but months and even years. No small injustice, no minor sorrow stayed behind from the conference called inside. They all flocked to the forefront of my mind, each shouting its pitiful sob story.

As the clamorous rampage in my mind continued, my weeping's volume increased. Soon, I was loudly sobbing and nearly convulsing from the anger and resentment, from the grief and the heartache, from the sharp and shooting pain.

From the other room, the vacuum cleaner and my little cleaning companion, Emmy Xiang, sat deserted. I heard her call, confused, to me, "Uh, did someone die in your game, or something?" Even one so enthralled in a pity party could smile at that, but I said nothing. Knowing that someone was listening, I only let loose greater sobs, holding nothing back as is my normal practice.

Finally I heard the pad-pad-pad of her feet coming toward me. She leaned against the bed, not sure whether touching me would invite an embrace or a shove. Finally, I rolled over to her, and she looked at me quizzically. We remained thus for a while, I piteously allowing tears to roll down my cheeks and she wondering what had caused and how to fix the mourning. At last she spoke:

"Why did you put them in there?"

"Um, what," was my confused reply?

"The sad thoughts -- why did you put them in your mind?"

I stared. She stared.

"Oh."

She was right. A simple clumsy knock on the head and I lay prostrate upon my bed weeping as if I had "married an unloveable man," as Emmy Xiang described me. That seven year old saw right into the depths of my heart. You look ridiculous. You hit your head on the shelf, and now you are replaying every sad or angering episode you've experienced in the past year. What is your problem?

"Finally, brothers and sisters,

whatever is true,

whatever is noble,

whatever is right,

whatever is pure,

whatever is lovely,

whatever is admirable,

if anything is excellent

or praiseworthy,

think about such things."

Philippians 4:8

Wish For Quiet

(The Bluebell Wood, Alfred Fontville de Breanski)

I lead a small life: eventful, trying at times, but small. And I know it is such because I love it that way. I am not a brave soul -- I am a quiet soul. And I am painfully aware of it when the sweet thrummings of the earth are constantly made war upon by machines in air, under water, and on land. As I wait for one airplane to pass, another advances. Every now and then a lawn mower, leaf blower, hedge trimmer, or some other such labor saving device wafts toward me. Then there is the ever coursing stream of cars, driven on by a busy, scattered people, and in the north at least, the constant "vroom-vroom" is accentuated by angry car horns. There is no serenity here.

Oh, the noise! That ever present distraction driving everyone to distraction. Even I, a self-diagnosed "quiet soul," being so accustomed to constant din, find silence discomforting. And if that be the case -- I shudder to think of the consequences for those who love the racket. If the Lord calls for solitude, for rest, for being still and knowing, we must quiet the noise.

I sit perched on a little bank in my Maryland neighborhood. Down where the rain water collects and drains has grown a patch of pinkish wildflowers. They are quiet; they are still.

Oh, to be a wildflower in a field of largest acreage, of broadest boundaries. We have so few fields, few forests, few green spaces anymore. When I leave the driveway, I am confined to a busy neighborhood surrounded on either side by crowded streets.

So I sit alone, wishing for quiet.

Not Just the Girl

(Peeling Potatoes, Ernest Walbourn)

"You say you love her. . . . And what does that mean exactly?"

"Means I don't want to leave her."

"It's not just the girl you have to want, Fisher Bloom; it's the life you'll have with her, the home, the children. It's all too easy to make someone else pay when all the art, the beauty is gone from your craft and it's just about putting food on the table. It can make a man more cruel than he thought he had it in him to be. Not wanting to leave -- it's not the same as wanting to stay. If there's any doubt now, go. Break her heart now."

"No."

"Better that than stay and break her spirit over years."

This, by far, is one of my favorite conversations in Larkrise to Candleford.

Choice

(Lazy Days, Margaret Collyer)

"The history of free men is never really written by chance but by choice -- their choice." - Dwight D. Eisenhower

I discovered this quotation in an Uncle Eric book, Ancient Rome: How It Affects You Today, by Richard J. Maybury (whose books I highly recommend, by the way). As you probably surmised from the title of his book, Mr. Maybury uses this single sentence with regards to the broad scope of history. However as I read it and the rest of the chapter, I couldn't help but reflect on the consistency of that idea on a smaller scale.

To use an example from my own life, this statement holds true when the alarm clock sounds or mealtime approaches. (Recently, I have been pulling weeds from the discipline bed in my garden, especially when it comes being disciplined with my body, the earthen-jar-turned-holy-temple, so such things have been on my mind.) Jolted from slumber, do I switch off the alarm and fall back into sleep, or do I rise up and begin my day? Craving all the "wrong things," do I fill myself with fleeting fancies, or do I nourish my body with necessities for functioning? Perhaps it seems a simple choice in the moment, but sleeping in and slipping treats will affect the rest of my day, if not my week, month, year, and life!

Almost everything I read is analyzed through the lenses of a girl hoping to be a wife and mother. Consequently, I considered the implications of Eisenhower's statement in just one generation. Even last night, my family conversed with another Pastor's College student about his conversion. In one evening he went from a drug addict destroying his own life to a gospel addict burning with a fiery passion for Jesus. Just one small choice reversed the course his life was taking. Actually, and here come my reformed roots, just one small choice of God's reversed the course his life was taking, the course my life was taking.

Thank God for the "small" choices He makes. May he impart the sobriety of the small choices to His children, for indeed, life is a never ending decision waiting to be made.

Loving God with Our Minds

God made our minds to love Him. We do this by first coming to the cross of Christ for salvation, where, as the hymn says, "sinners plunged beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains." We love God with our minds by being renewed through His Word and thinking about excellent, lovely, wholesome things. Did you know that when you study birds (ornithology), bugs (entomology), words (etymology), the human body (anatomy), and just about any "-ology" you can think of, you are loving Him? "The works of the Lord are great, studied by all who have pleasure in them," wrote the psalmist. We love God with our mind when we admire smoothness, strangeness, structure, inticacy, fragrance, complexion, motion. "Glory be to God for dappled things," exclaimed the poet-priest Gerard Manley Hopkins. - Suzanne U. Rhodes, The Roar on the Other Side

Tragic Moral Choice

My beloved friend sent out a query to a few friends this evening, and I wanted a place to store my response, as I intend to develop it into an essay of sorts. So, here it is, beginning with my friend's question, for those interested:

I'm writing a paper on tragic moral choice. Let me know your thoughts... 

There is a pounding on the door. Suddenly, the door gives way and the room is filled with armed Gestapo. Pointing their guns at the Christians inside, they harshly demand, "Where are the Jews?" 

What is the Christian to do? Yes, the Jews are hidden in the attic; but to admit this would mean certain death of the innocent women and children hidden there, while to deny that there are Jews hidden there would be a lie, a breaking of God's commandment. To lie or to submit the innocent to death, which should the Christian choose?

My response:

Hmm... I have struggled with this many a time, my friend. 

The immediate thought for me would be to lie and protect the innocent in my care. After all, the Egyptian midwives were blessed by the Lord after lying to Pharaoh just as Rahab was spared by hiding the Israelite spies. 

But at the same time, our Father declares that He will never, ever place His precious children in temptation without also providing a way of escape. To me, the interpretation of that verse indicates that God never places us in circumstances in which our only option is to sin. 

Then, I also consider the experiences we read of other than those outlined in the Bible. Corrie Ten Boom's The Hiding Place comes to mind. Both Corrie and her sister, Nollie, were called to hide hunted Jews in their homes; however, Corrie refused to admit that Jews were living behind her bedroom wall, while Nollie and her children refused to lie. And the Lord blessed them both in their endeavors! 

*sigh* What to do? Given the situation you described, perhaps I would simply refuse to answer the question. Whatever the circumstances, I constantly pray that, when called upon to undergo such interrogation, the Lord would pour out His favor and that the Spirit would fill my lips with the words He deems fit. I think that this is the only way to ensure that we properly honor the Lord in the moment. 

Well, that's my two cents worth for right now... 

Love you so much!
Jane Ellen 

P.S. Don't you like how I effortlessly outlined the two differing sides of the argument and yet never cast my lot with either one? Call me a temporary fence-sitter, but I have yet to make up my mind on this question, though I've pondered it many an hour.

Thoughts, anyone?

Today's Meditations

Every lash of the whip

Every stroke of the hammer upon

Every nail

Every insult You bore

Every minute You hung

Between heaven and hell

Every thorn in Your crown

Every tear on Your back

Every drop of Your blood

Was for me

Oh it was all for me

Oh glory to Your holy name

For the distance that you came

To bear my guilt and take my blame to save me

From heaven to the cross of pain

Oh! the distance that you came

So I will love you without shame

You saved me, You saved me

Choruses of "For Me" and "Across the Great Divide" by Sovereign Grace Music and Nap Records