Of Fruit and Fire

Veering from my usual anecdotal revelations, I want to quickly share a bit of Biblical wisdom with you.  The sharing will happen in a stream of consciousness telling with a bit of unnecessary details, I'm sure, because I am still me.

I am in a women's Bible study group and we are in the book of Numbers. Today the study had me reading Numbers chapters 16 and 17.  Here are the highlights to help keep you with me the rest of the time:

-Backstory: The Israelite generation that was liberated from Egypt has just been told that they shall not enter into the promised land, because of their fear at the report of 10 spies (who we can assume would have been very prominent warriors/leaders in the community.)

-Chapter 16: Everybody blames Moses. Everybody is mad at Moses. People are starting to wonder if Moses is a worthy leader. There is a man named Korah who rallies 250 respected and influential members of the tribe to confront Moses and ask for more responsibility at the tabernacle. (Perhaps thinking they could interpret God's word better so they weren't doomed to wandering?) A couple fellas, Dathan and Abiram, who side with Korah, are so over Moses's leadership that they don't even want to come into an audience with him...are just flat out going to ignore him and his God-given authority. Now Moses is offended. He talks to God about his anger, and then tells all the people who were unhappy with their current responsibilities and hungry for more authority to come to the tabernacle with censers in hand. They do. God tells Moses and Aaron to remove themselves from the situation because it is about to get bad. Moses immediately asks God to not consume everyone because of the misleadings of a few. God tells them to make sure everyone is removed from the tents of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram. Then these guys and all their worldly possessions are swallowed up in the earth. Then, the 250 who followed Korah and held the censers are consumed by fire. Moses is instructed to have a priest take the now holy censers and melt them down for a plate to cover the altar. (There is more to the chapter. Read if you're interested.)

-Chapter 17: All of the Israelites are, understandably, distraught. God asks the twelve tribes to provide one staff each and present them in the tabernacle. God takes Aaron's staff and causes it to bud and blossom and produce almonds.  After the staffs are all presented to the congregation, God tells Moses to leave Aaron's staff in the temple as a reminder to the people.

So here in the temple we now have two tokens of remembrance: an altar made from the censers and a staff bursting with fruit and life.

The commentary for the study I am in used the altar and the staff to help distinguish between disobedience- which leads to death, and obedience- which leads to life. I like that and I agree with it.  But as I kept contemplating these verses for myself, I was led to something even deeper.

In chapter 16, when the LORD instructs Moses to collect the censers from the burned, He says this:

"Speak unto Eleazar the son of Aaron the priest, that he take up the censers out of the burning, and scatter thou the fire yonder; for they are hallowed. The censers of these sinners against their own souls, let them make broad plates for a covering of the altar: for they offered them unto the LORD, therefore they are hallowed:" (v37-38)

Censers were reserved for priests, and in the Old Testament and under the old covenant, priests were only to be Levites. The 250 were not Levites.  It is why their censers needed the refining fire. It is also why Aaron's staff blossomed. His was the staff that would bear fruit in the temple.

But we are not bound by all of the laws of the old covenant.  We live under the new covenant, established through Jesus Christ. Whereas the Israelites followed the letter and instructions of the Law for holiness and sanctification, we rely on Jesus and His Spirit to sanctify us through the Spirit of God that dwells in us. 

I was thinking about how God operates so differently under this new covenant, and yet so much in the same way. Christ does the sanctifying work in us. We will be made holy--like the 250. But our hearts determine if that sanctification is going to happen through fire or through fruit.

I know I've had a bit of both in my life. 

Fruitfulness is lovelier in the book of Numbers, it is our calling under the new covenant, and I would argue it's the better way now.

But I just want to offer a glimmer of hope from a hard O.T. judgment: God can still use your fire as a holy offering, maybe even to bless others.  I haven't done research yet to see what else the altar of the 250 was used for. I am curious to find if anything else was offered there or if it was simply for remembrance--but I know it was holy, for God Himself had made it become holy.

11Day after day every priest stands and performs his religious duties; again and again he offers the same sacrifices, which can never take away sins. 12But when this priest had offered for all time one sacrifice for sins, he sat down at the right hand of God, 13and since that time he waits for his enemies to be made his footstool. 14For by one sacrifice he has made perfect forever those who are being made holy. (Hebrews 10)

 Keep going-xoxo

If the Church Bells were Quiet

If the church bells were quiet 

And the candles unlit 

And the building was empty, save one in pulpit 

 If the people could not join their hands down the aisle 

 If they had to put coverings over their smile 

 The stage unadorned 

 And the choir rows sparse 

 If they had to tune in from a speaker in cars 

 Would the church as we know it then cease to exist?

 Or perhaps, is The Church something different than this? 

 Can we still be at church if we're not in a seat?

 Or are we The Church when we're made hands and feet

 Are we robbed of the church if we're not in a place? 

 Or are we fully a church when The Church is a face

 Is church where we gather? Or is Church where we give 

 Is church where we hear a message? Or is the message how we live 

 When building is absent, can Body still grow?  

Where candles are darkened, can't our Light still show? 

 Where church bells are silent, can't Spirit still sing? 

If there's not any address, is Church still a thing? 

 The answer is yes, for we aren't wall or steeple 

 We are Christ's Bride: The Church is a people 

 And where two or more are gathered in Name, then the Spirit of God is there just the same. 

 So where church bells are quiet 

 Maybe we can ring out

 Living Stones being built in a spiritual house ❤️

You Have Something Beautiful

Global pandemic.

Nation-wide quarantine.

Indefinite isolation.

I started this blog almost a decade ago now as a way to work through things like motherhood, military life, deployments, faith, and honestly, just figuring out how in the world to be a grownup. I could have never guessed back then that I would also use it to help me process the crazy events of this past month.


This story is coming to you from interior Alaska--Day 29

Some fun facts before we begin: We just wrapped up the fourth coldest winter on record up here. We haven't seen the grass since October. There is still FEET of snow on the ground. And when I woke up yesterday morning, my weather app said it was -6 degrees, so who knows?!--Maybe we're also gunning for fourth coldest spring.
You would think that interior Alaska would be a fine and fair place to isolate, and I guess that could be true for people not living on military installations. But we have our difficulties up here, too. We have very limited access to medical facilities if we do get sick. Number of healthcare workers? Not wanting to worry my pretty, unwashed head about that. No matter how far apart we are, we all go to the same few stores to grab our essential items. (There is no Target here, adding insult to injury.) Grub Hub ain't coming to me. Amazon already didn't ship certain things to us before this craziness so it's a real crap-shoot right now. Oh, and we don't have any toilet paper either.
In -6 degrees...
And feet of snow...

Words cannot express the jealousy I feel over people who are lazing away in backyard hammocks. Or swimming in their pools. Or dining on their patios. Or tending to their gardens. Or running outdoor trails. Honestly, I feel a very strong urge to buy a $2 round-trip plane ticket so I can stand six feet away and yell at them whenever they complain.
I can't watch anything on HGTV right now without thinking to myself, "Ooooh! Bet it would be nice to be quarantined there..."

All this longing for warm weather and the great outdoors has left me daydreaming about our last home in central Texas. We had a beautiful acre and a half with a pond. Bluebonnets were all over it. There was a garden, and a hammock, and an outdoor dining area, and a covered patio with a chimenea, and a herd of whitetail deer that would probably be owning the joint right now, causing a real ruckus with the garden and the dogs. But as good as all those amenities were, the thing I miss the most about that place was the glorious running trail not a mile from the house. It was my favorite.
I've thought about that trail a lot over these last 29 days.

But this morning I remembered one encounter I had on the trail in particular.
It was a weekday afternoon a few years back, and all four of us were out riding bikes on the trail. There was a section of the trail with a steep grade over a bridge that asked bike riders to dismount, and so Nate led the pack while the kids and I followed behind him. There was a woman on the oncoming side of us just ahead on the trail, accompanied by an older woman and two younger children. They stood off to the side and greeted Nathan and the kids in the amicable Texan way as we walked our bikes past them. As my eyes met hers in expectation of a similar greeting, she looked right at me and instead declared,

"You have something beautiful."

I offered an awkward thank you as I mounted back on my bike to ride away after my family, both surprised and humbled by her directness. Her words hummed around in my brain right along with the sound of my bike spokes and the wind whirring past my face until they landed firmly in my heart. You see, she couldn't have known how sweet that bike ride was for me and my kids...or how my husband had just gotten home from his third deployment...or how he had turned down an opportunity at work so we could move into the house right next to that trail...or that we had been desperate to create more moments like these for our family. She couldn't have known all the hard things that helped make that beautiful moment happen.

Today, as I replayed that scene in my head yet another time, I realized something new: I didn't know what hard things made her say those precious words to me.
I didn't know if she had recently lost her husband...or if they were divorced...or if he was away on business...or if he was even in the picture at all. I don't know if she felt a jealous or sad. All I do know is she could have used our brief encounter to ponder privately, but instead she used it to edify me.
(Years later, awkward and humbled once again.)

We're all going through hard things right now, and I've been pondering it all privately. However, I think I'd like to take a cue from the lady on the trail and tell you what I see.

***

To the mamas making adorable theme nights in your home to celebrate with your family even though your vacation plans were cancelled; who are stringing birthday celebrations out of thin air...
You are making your family feel special and loved. You are making happy memories in a hard time. You are creating joy out of loss.
"You have something beautiful."

To the families that are learning how to sew together to donate goods; who are making it a point to drive past their friends houses to wave on a hard day; who have dropped off or mailed out meals or treats or goodies so people do not feel forgotten...
You are teaching your children how to serve others in spirit and in deed. You are teaching the rest of us how to stay truly connected, even in the midst of isolation.
"You have something beautiful."

To the teachers who are putting together learning opportunities for your students all hours of the day at home; who are making themselves available for email and video chat all the time; who are making worksheets and experiments that you are sharing for us parents outside your district via social media; who are out with the district delivering meals so no family is overlooked; to the homeschooling community who helped us navigate the waters of those first tricky days...
You are showing us the readiness and resiliency of the loving heart. Even remotely, you are still giving us a village to help raise our babies.
"You have something beautiful."

To the mamas/dads who are doing this solo...
You are your child's champion. You are their safe place. I promise you, you are their inspiration. You are going into every single one of their application essays from now until the end of time. You look like sacrificial, faithful, amazing love.
"You have something beautiful."

To the people who are navigating this all alone...
You are amazing and selfless. You are making art. You are making us laugh. You are making us cry. You are making us remember why we were given community...you are reminding us to be a better one.
"You have something beautiful."

To the essential workers who are going into work every single day into a work atmosphere that's just gone plumb crazy, then come home and help field the emotional burden of your family that has been stuck at home (direct shout-out to my husband)...
How are you doing it, selflessly giving yourself all day long? Coming home and stripping down and showering off, and then showing *all the way up for us.* Not taking any time to decompress. Not making me feel too needy. Giving me grace for my outbursts when you are under just as much stress, if not more so.
You have been doing this all along for us, and I didn't always see it.
"You have something beautiful." That lady on the trail was so right. I have something beautiful in you.

To the mamas who have new babies in this crazy time...
You are making love bigger than fear. You are helping us all remember the beauty of life right when it seems the most frail.
"You have something beautiful."

To my stay-at-home mamas...
You do not always feel valued. I want you to remember that in this moment, the world turned sideways and all your family had to do was go into the sanctuary of the space you had been creating for them all along. Home-cooked meals and family dinners were already commonplace. Home was ready and waiting for them. You were ready and waiting. Things were changing up left and right, but you offered stability. If you feel like that was not a contribution in this time, then you are wrong. You have created the haven of home for your loved ones.
"You have something beautiful."

***

There are so, so many more things to see, and I know I'm nowhere close to touching the scope of this.
There is beauty all in the hard things. That's part of what makes them so beautiful.
Just do me and the lady on the trail a favor. If you see something beautiful, then just say it.