On the ninth day of Christmas my True Love gave to me, nine ranks of scholars, eight modes of worship, seven crazy feelings, six proclamations, five broken dreams, four upset parents, three gifts from wisemen, two speaking prophets, and a great big herd of bleating, dumb sheep.
God's ways are not always my ways. And the more I ponder that principle, the more appreciative I am of my parents, who were open and honest with me. Granted, my mother is not one of those people who believe children should be taught or told everything - far, far from it. But I do remember in high school being aghast as a classmate (who came from a church-attending family) laughingly told about his mother dropping a glass bowl, cutting herself in the process, and letting out a swear word. He called his mother on it, to which she responded "I guess I can't say anything if you say those words, can I?" and my brain was reeling with a resounding "WHAT?!?!" Had such a scenario played out in my household, my Mom would have ended that conversation with "Lord, please forgive me. I was wrong to say that, and I'm even sorrier that you heard it. But two wrongs never make a right. Just because I failed God and you doesn't give you a right to sin. We'll both have to work harder and pray God puts that "watch before our mouths" (one of Mom's favorite quotes from the book of Psalms). My parents were never afraid to admit when they were wrong and ask for God's forgiveness.
I guess it goes back to the whole pride issue. Rather than admit we're wrong about something, we adopt a "well, it's just not possible to keep that commandment so why try?" attitude, mocking God's authority and strength in the process. One of Lucado's narratives in the cantata really brought that home to me this year. I know I've had a lot of favorites from the cantata, but this one struck a chord with me that really clanged in my soul.
God's ways are not always my ways. And the more I ponder that principle, the more appreciative I am of my parents, who were open and honest with me. Granted, my mother is not one of those people who believe children should be taught or told everything - far, far from it. But I do remember in high school being aghast as a classmate (who came from a church-attending family) laughingly told about his mother dropping a glass bowl, cutting herself in the process, and letting out a swear word. He called his mother on it, to which she responded "I guess I can't say anything if you say those words, can I?" and my brain was reeling with a resounding "WHAT?!?!" Had such a scenario played out in my household, my Mom would have ended that conversation with "Lord, please forgive me. I was wrong to say that, and I'm even sorrier that you heard it. But two wrongs never make a right. Just because I failed God and you doesn't give you a right to sin. We'll both have to work harder and pray God puts that "watch before our mouths" (one of Mom's favorite quotes from the book of Psalms). My parents were never afraid to admit when they were wrong and ask for God's forgiveness.
I guess it goes back to the whole pride issue. Rather than admit we're wrong about something, we adopt a "well, it's just not possible to keep that commandment so why try?" attitude, mocking God's authority and strength in the process. One of Lucado's narratives in the cantata really brought that home to me this year. I know I've had a lot of favorites from the cantata, but this one struck a chord with me that really clanged in my soul.
"Blessed are the meek," Jesus explained. Blessed are the available. Blessed are the conduits, the tunnels, the tools... "That's why the announcement went first to the shepherds. They didn't ask God if he was sure he knew what he was doing. Had the angel gone to theologians, they would have first consulted their commentaries. Had he gone to the elite, they would have looked around to see if anyone was watching. Had he gone to the successful, they would have first looked at their calendars...So he went to the shepherds. Men who didn't have a reputation to protect or an ax to grind or a ladder to climb. Men who didn't know enough to tell God that angels don't sing to sheep and the messiahs aren't found wrapped in rags and sleeping in a feeding trough. So while the theologians were sleeping and the elite were dreaming and the successful were snoring, the meek were kneeling. They were kneeling before the One only the meek will see. They were kneeling in front of Jesus."This Christmas season (and actually from here on out), may I recognize the wisdom of God's plans, even when they don't make sense to me. After all, he stuck a baby in a cow's feed bowl, and things turned our more than okay.
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