I am the Church

I am a living breathing part of the church. I am not corralled in some building only to step out on special occasions to "bless" the world.

I am the church. Wherever I go, the church is there, the visual, living example of Christ to others.

I am the church flowing through the community, into the workplace and over the world.

I am the church and therefore it is ridiculous for the world to try to beat the church out of me whenever I am outside the four walls of the building in which I gather with other believers.

I am the church and I carry the church into every part of my life. If I am doing things well, I shine the light of Christ into the lives of others.

I am the church and even if I blow it, Christ's light still shines brightly when I am authentic, accountable and repentant. My contrition will show the world how the church recovers from its mistakes.

I am the church and when those I meet see Christ in me, perhaps they will be more drawn to join me in that warehouse where I gather with other parts of the church.

John 6:44a, " For no one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws them to me..." (NLT)

God and Jasmine Care for the Sparrows

There is a down side to keeping your windows too clean-it takes it's toll on the bird population. One side of our home is a wall of large windows and although I am thankful for the view and the beauty I see everywhere I turn, I do mourn the fact that our house has been the cause of death for many of my avian friends.

The summer kamikaze flights are so frequent in number that two of our three cats can identify the sound of a bird body hitting glass from any point in the house. Our third cat, a little on the elderly and prissy side, could care less about what happens oudoors unless it involves food (and I mean human grade, expensive food from a can).

My response to the "kerplunk" sound is to run downstairs and see if I can nurse any gross beaks or chickadees back to consciousness. There is immense joy in seeing them recover and fly away.

Our little Siamese mix, Jasmine, beats me to the sliding glass doors every time. Her nose twitches, tail whips and every muscle in her lithe body vibrates with the instinct of a hunter. I choose not to assume that she stands at the screen staring with laser-like intensity at the wounded birds because she is, as my husband says, "on death watch". No, this is a house that loves and serves the Lord. I have decided that Jasmine stands at the screen in an attitude of focused prayer for her little feathered friends. Her fervent feline supplications are chirped to the God who cares about the sparrows (and the chickadees and the gross beaks).

Now when the dreaded "kerplunk" is heard on the glass and Jasmine races down the stairs, I tell her to "pray hard" until I can get there and offer my avian medical services.

What is the price of two sparrows—one copper coin? But not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it. (Matthew 10:29 NLT)

Resistance is Futile

The source of my insomnia is encased in a cream and black fur coat and has lovely blue eyes. My husband has no sympathy for my predicament, he tells me to simply push the cat off the bed if she is annoying me. . This is an impossibility. Even in sleep, I cow tow to her every wish, adjusting my sleeping form to maximize her comfort.

We always start out well; she comes to bed, kneads on my forearm for a while and then cuddles next to me. Inevitably, at the precise moment that I am falling into the deep REM sleep I need so badly, she decides to move, lick my face (or worse, my eyeball) with her raspy tongue or jump on top of me and practice her tap dancing. We finally come to an agreement that she needs to let me return to sleep; she kneads on my forearm, purrs for a while and then plops down beside me once again. This ritual is repeated several times during the night.

We could shut the door and forbid her access to the bedroom but she is a willful little thing and clawing, scratching and howling are not beneath her. Besides, her two furry partners in crime would only come to her assistance and join the riot outside the bedroom. She also knows how to get me out of bed by tossing precious knick-knacks off coffee tables or tossing objects off the counter in the guest bathroom if she is annoyed.

Everyone who has ever been servant to a cat knows one thing, when they are exerting their will, resistance is futile. In our case, resistance is not only futile, it is pointless-we live with three felines. That is more mind control than I am capable of fighting.

On those days I appear a little worn out, eyes puffy and demeanor a bit confused. When, despite my best efforts, there are errant bits of cat hair on my best black blazer, I am sure I can hear the whispers as I pass, "Ah poor thing, she must have a cat at her house."

Woulda, Shoulda, Coulda

Life rolls by at lightning speed and opportunities fly by like objects blown in a hurricane. That good deed I meant to do, the expression of thanks all end up as good intentions rather than acts completed. I often feel that twinge of regret that reminds me that I allowed an opportune moment to slip by me. This time it was more than a twinge, it was an onslaught of full-fledged grief.

We moved into our new house 18 months ago. We met some of the neighbors but some kept to themselves. I met the pets of the little girl from the house down the street before I met her. Her two Siamese mix cats resembled our own felines. Her cats loved to hang out by our bird feeder and take a drink from our little pond and waterfall.

I never met her dad.. We spoke twice. Once when his dog got into my back yard and once, when my husband was ill and I was trying to shovel myself out of over a foot of new Christmas snow. He saw me struggling and arrived at my driveway with his snow blower. It had been a rough holiday, my husbands health was only one of the traumas we suffered this past December. I was at the end of my rope and this man with his snow blower was the best Christmas present I received. I thanked him tearfully and told him how much his act of kindness meant to me. I vowed to myself that I would take some cookies or other Christmas goodies to the house as a thank you. I meant well, I thought about doing something to show my thanks but life intervened, my husband still struggled with his health and my good intentions remained only intentions.

Fast forward to February and I learn that this man and his daughter are going to lose their home. One week I wave to the little girl as she waits for the school bus and rescue her cat from our tree and the next day their house is closed up and there is a foreclosure notice on the door.

My heart was pierced and I was desolate. I can't imagine what that man must have been going through in December. He must have already been behind with his mortgage and worrying about his home. In the middle of his problems, he took a moment to help a neighbor, to show a kindness. I thanked him for his kindness but went no further than that. I spent several days a week in ministry but I did not follow through on an opportunity to show the love of Christ to my neighbor.

Every day the house down the street stands in silent rebuke. The notice on the door reminds me that lives once lived there; dreams once dreamed there are gone. It stands empty of life and hope and it is a daily reminder that those moments the Lord gives us are too precious to waste. It is the silent witness to my lack of obedience and love. It stands on my street and reminds me that "woulda, shoulda, coulda are never words that should be used in God's economy.

You Gotta' Have Friends

On Monday afternoon, as I was preparing for a meeting, my husband flew upstairs, grabbed my arm and escorted me to the sliding glass doors of our balcony. Attached to the young cedar tree in front of us, like some sort of furry brooch, was our neighbor's cat. My husband had observed said cat from his office window as the feline began his ascent of the cedar. The expression on the cat's face, as well as the yowls emanating from deep inside his throat, indicated that he was lamenting his impulsive decision.

I would love to think that this tree climbing exercise was prompted by his desire to drop by and express his deep affection for us. I am pragmatic enough however, to think that the fact that our little chickadees find that particular cedar a nice place to hang out between trips to the bird feeder was the motivating factor for his hasty move.

It was the cat's great fortune to have chosen a young, pliable cedar, which allowed my husband and I to execute a relatively quick cat rescue, I pulled the tree towards us and he was able to grab the frightened feline and bring him in the house. Our next move would have to be swift and stealthy. We needed to get the visiting cat through the house and out the front door before our three felines realized what was happening.

With the cat tucked under my arm and one hand over his head in an attempt to muffle his indigent hisses and meows, I made haste across the dining room, past the living room and kitchen and to the front entry in record time (amazing how fast you can move when you are in danger of being shredded). Our friend was deposited on the front porch and, with one quick backward glance and a hiss for good measure; he tore across the street and out of sight. Our cats were oblivious to the drama that had just ensued.

Who says working at home is boring?