Sunday Psalms: Psalm 5 is not for night owls

 In the morning, Lord, you hear my voice;

    in the morning I lay my requests before you
    and wait expectantly.

—Psalm 5:3 NIV

Us in 1989

 

As a working mother of three, time alone with God seemed an insurmountable challenge. I’d read a verse or two from my Bible at bedtime when I could hardly keep my eyes open, then mumble a prayer as I drifted off to sleep. Then I attended a women’s retreat where the speaker challenged us to spend an hour a day in prayer, promising it would change our lives. It seemed she was asking for the moon. The only way I could see to make that happen was to rise an hour earlier in the morning. An extra hour meant setting my alarm for 5:30.

I did it. Crawling out of my warm bed when that annoying alarm went off was the last thing I wanted to do. Thankfully, we’d already learned to keep our alarm clock across the room, eliminating the snooze option. I made myself a cup of coffee and lit a candle, then plunged in. I discovered that by journaling my prayers first and reading scripture second, my eyes were opened to the cries of my heart before I feasted them on God’s word. His promises began to jump off the page and fill a need. Not every day. But often enough that the habit became something I wanted to do. Like returning to a good novel to see what happens next, I wanted to see what God had for me that day.

Thirty years later, I’m retired. Yet I rarely sleep past six, eager to continue this intimate relationship with my Lord.

 

Questions for Reflection: What steps am I willing to take to experience increased intimacy with God and let Him set the tone for my day?

The Oxygen Mask

If you’ve ever flown anywhere, you’ve heard the speech.

Photo from Canva Pro

“Should the cabin experience sudden pressure loss, stay calm and listen for instructions from the cabin crew. Oxygen masks will drop down from above your seat. If you’re traveling with children or anyone needing assistance, make sure your own mask is on first before helping others.”

This rule has been used as a metaphor many times, often at graduation ceremonies, and it’s a good one. How can you help others if you’re gasping for breath or passed out yourself? It’s used to remind us to take care of ourselves in a multitude of ways. I’ve heard it used to encourage people—especially women—to get an education and career so that they never find themselves at the mercy of someone else to provide their basic needs.

I think most women understand that now. I grew up in a world where one university-educated partner could support a whole family. I figured if I married someone with a college education, I’d be free to stay home. In our case, we married before the education began—but I still naively nursed the notion that once I finished “putting hubby through,” life would be smooth sailing. Years later, I found myself thinking that if I’d known I would need to spend my life working anyway, I’d have gone to college myself so that at least my efforts would pay better.

The oxygen mask metaphor works well for counselors and parents too. How can you help clients or your kids if their pain triggers your own because you haven’t worked through your trauma and found healing? You could end up doing them more harm than good.

Like almost everything, personal survival rules can be used rightly and wrongly. Can you think of examples of where someone has taken this metaphor to the extreme or used it for selfish reasons? Here are some I’ve heard:

“Maybe I can’t afford the new golf clubs, but I need to take care of myself first.”

“I need a week alone at a sunny resort to fuel my tank before I can look after my family.”

“I’m dumping my loser spouse because they suck the life out of me and it’s time I looked after ME.”

What if, instead of dramatic self-care moves like expensive toys, trips, or divorces, we could learn to wear an oxygen tank with a continuous flow, in our everyday, ordinary lives?

Let me share how this has proven itself in my life, even though I didn’t necessarily realize it until recently. The importance of spending time alone with God, reading my Bible, and praying, was drilled into me early in life. I’m grateful for that, but I viewed this practice as something I did to please God more than for myself. When our children were little, staying consistent became increasingly difficult until I gave up. For years, I grabbed snippets of truth here or there or not at all. I’d try to take in great gulps in church on Sundays to tide me over for the week.

Not until I began consistently rising at six each morning to keep this appointment with God, did I begin to see the difference it made. Although I didn’t think of it as connecting to an oxygen mask in order to help others (spouse, children, employer, clients…), I now believe it served that purpose in ways I’ll never fully grasp. I began to see how desperately I needed that time and how much weaker I became when I skipped. The habit continued. While I now enjoy much more freedom with my rising time, the daily dose of oxygen is still an absolute requirement.

So today, if asked for my best advice for graduates, I’d say, “Definitely, put your own oxygen mask on first. But don’t be surprised if it looks like a Bible, a journal, a pen, and thirty or sixty minutes out of every day.”

Why You Should Never Road-Trip with a Writer

If you’ve been reading my blog any length of time, you already know that road trips never go smoothly for me. It’s always something. When I do make my destination without incident, something’s sure to go wrong on the way home.

In the spirit of lemons-to-lemonade, I tend to use these incidents as “blog fodder” for at least three reasons. One, it’s tough to think up something new to write about every week. Two, I know how readers love to revel in my calamities. Three, there’s always a lesson to learn and share if one digs deep enough.

It’s my innocent fellow travelers (usually Hubby) who must suffer the consequences even though they never volunteered to have their every move documented and published for whichever readers are heartless enough to enjoy others’ misfortunes.

Our last trip was no exception, to our daughter’s Calgary home for Christmas. You need to know that I’m not a fan of driving, especially since my collision last spring. I’m generally willing to drive only if there’s no snow, rain, ice, or fog. And no darkness. No curves or hills. No one passing me. Oh, and no other vehicles on the road.

This is rather limiting.

But with Hubby fighting a cold, I was determined to drive as much as possible, both to give him a break and to lose some of my anxiety around driving. I took over the wheel as soon as the sun rose, at Brandon. Despite some fog, I managed to continue into Saskatchewan, becoming more relaxed as the fog lifted. I was gaining confidence and felt pretty proud of myself as we approached Swift Current around 3:30 p.m. I looked forward to stopping for a bathroom break and having Hubby take over the wheel for the remaining five hours.

Suddenly, we heard THWACK-THWACK-THWACK! 

In my rearview mirror, I saw a strip of rubber flapping around the rear wheel. I immediately thought of those “road alligators” sometimes left behind by semi-trucks. I pulled over and Hubby got out to inspect. Turned out I’d run over a tarp strap. The strap’s hook had punctured our tire, and the tire was quickly going flat.

Then we discovered our spare was impossible to remove from its rusted and corroded rack under the car. I tried calling CAA. No cell service.

Finally, a text went through. While we waited for a tow truck, Hubby began calling tire shops only to learn they were all closing (it was Saturday) and would not reopen until Wednesday, after Boxing Day.

I began to pray as I envisioned spending Christmas in a Swift Current hotel room. Either that, or our kids would need to make two ten-hour round trips to get us and take us back. (They later assured us they would have, although that could be because we were bringing a week’s worth of meals with us.)

When our tow truck driver arrived and I climbed into his cab, it was hard to ignore the whiff of alcohol or his constant use of a hand-held cell phone while driving. However, the guy had connections we did not. He knew the personal phone number of a repairman willing to come open his shop after hours even though he lived out of town. Yes, we needed to pay after-hour rates, but this is why God invented credit cards. Ninety minutes later, our tire was fixed and we were once more on the move—in the dark, with Hubby at the wheel.

You could say that sketchy tow truck guy saved our Christmas, all because of who he knew. Then again, it’s entirely possible the one I knew and prayed to had dispatched the best person for us. So much to consider. And to remember.

Like checking the accessibility of a spare tire before leaving home. Or not taking road-trips with a writer.

 

What History Forgets...

How desperate does a nation need to become before its leader calls for a National Day of Prayer?

On May 24, 1940, the British needed a miracle. One of the greatest disasters in its history seemed in the making. When France fell to the Germans, the British Army of 350,000 men were hemmed in with their backs to the sea at Dunkirk and no one to save them. The water was too shallow for a Navy rescue. The commander of the British Forces, Lt. General Sir Frederick Morgan, stated that there was no way out, barring a miracle.

Then something happened that has only happened a handful of times.

King George VI (grandfather of our current King Charles) went on the radio to call for the first National Day of Prayer, imploring citizens to plead for divine intervention. You may have seen the iconic photographs of long lineups at London’s Westminster Abbey. Millions flocked into churches to pray, while others prayed from home. Historian Dr. Victor Pearce wrote, “Hardly anybody stayed away. The churches and halls were crammed full and overflows outside were sometimes bigger than the crush inside.”

Britain received its miracle—in fact, several miracles—in the days that followed.

No one could explain how the English Channel remained absolutely calm all the days during which thousands of private boats traveled back and forth, rescuing members of the British Expeditionary Army from the sands of Dunkirk. Had the weather been normal for those few days, the world map would no doubt look much different today.

No one could explain the freak storms that simultaneously grounded most of the German air force. Only a few planes were able to take off, and no one could explain the fog that prevented those few from attacking the civilian vessels in the channel.

No one could explain Hitler’s order, overruling his own generals. Just as his tanks prepared to advance, he ordered to halt the attack and sent his troops in a different direction. This order remained in effect for two days while soldiers were evacuated by civilian boats. Some writers speculated that Hitler had given the order out of a misguided sense of mercy, hoping the British were ready to surrender. The historian Brian Bond stated that few historians now accept that view. In later years, Adolf Hitler lamented that Churchill was “quite unable to appreciate the sporting spirit” in which he’d refrained from annihilating [the] British Expeditionary Force at Dunkirk.

 

No one could explain the apparent immunity of 400 soldiers who rose to their feet after lying face-down in the sand beneath a rain of German ammunition, to discover themselves unhurt. No one could explain the image of their own silhouettes in the sand, surrounded by bullets.

 

338,226 soldiers were successfully evacuated from a seemingly impossible situation. So convinced were the British of the value of prayer that more National Days of Prayer were called in the months and years to follow. Yes, much damage was done and many lives were lost, but those who experienced it would never forget what became known as The Miracle at Dunkirk. Unfortunately, the story has faded from memories and history books. Though you can find numerous YouTube videos about the event, most ignore the call to prayer.

 

While it’s hard to imagine Parliament calling for a national prayer day in 2023, nothing need stop you and me from praying. My Bible tells me the heart of the king is in God’s hands (Proverbs 21:1) and that we are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies, but against an unseen world (Ephesians 6:12). Matthew 8 tells me of a Saviour who stops the wind with his words.

 

This Remembrance Day, let’s remember not only those who sacrificed, but those who prayed and the God who hears.

 

Lest we forget.

 

(For a moving, 8-minute video that tells this story far better than I can, CLICK HERE.)

 

 

Saying Grace, Part 2 of 2

 

In my online query about mealtime prayers, my friend Amanda told me of a time she served her kids a quinoa-based meal which was met with gross faces and complaints. As a joke, she made up this prayer on the fly and she and her kids have been saying it at lunch ever since:

“Thank you, Jesus, for this food,
Help us be kind, and not be rude.
Thanks for hands that help us eat,
Whoever complains can kiss my feet.”

Don’t you love it?

I learned that ethnicity plays a big role in our mealtime prayers. Two friends, both from a Dutch background, said they prayed before and after a meal. Before they ate, they’d say, “Lord bless this food and drink for Jesus’ sake, amen.” After the meal, it was, “Lord thank you for this food and drink for Jesus’ sake, amen.”

One person shared with me a cartoon where a little boy is asking his friend if his family prays before they eat. The other kid answers, “No. We’re Ukrainian. My mom knows how to cook.”

Several friends from a Mennonite background told me that praying aloud was not something they were taught to do, only silent prayers. When at family gatherings at her grandparents’ home, they prayed before and after the meal, also in silence. Dorothy told me, “I asked my mom why and what would the prayer be? She didn’t know. I guess it was one of those things you just did and didn’t ask any questions.”

Speaking of asking questions, I watched a movie recently where a character recited a familiar prayer: “For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly grateful.”

I’ve certainly heard that one before, but now it made me wonder something. The prayer implies that God has to make us grateful, as though gratitude is not a response we can choose for ourselves. If that were true, why would scripture instruct us, “In everything, give thanks?” (I Thessalonians 5:18) Not all our prayers carry the best theology.

When my children were preschoolers, our church ran a program called “LIFT” where women came together for a morning of activities, study, and prayer while their children attended their own program. My kids and I loved participating, but they came home singing a new prayer that really raised my eyebrows at first. Have you heard it?

“Oh, the Lord is good to me. And so I thank the Lord; For giving me the things I need, the sun, and the rain, and the apple seed. The Lord is good to me.” The catchy tune made me smile, and I found no fault with the words. But where I’d been taught to pray in Jesus’ name, this prayer ended with, “Johnny Appleseed, Amen.”

I’m sure I gasped out loud the first time I heard the closer. What kind of heresy was this? I steered my children away from the “Johnny Appleseed” ending, though it was their favorite part. I was concerned the phrase would somehow offend God.

I wish I’d known then that God is not so easily offended. That he is far more concerned with the genuine condition of our hearts than by the precision of our words. That he basks in the songs of children. That he inhabits our praises, our gratitude, and our joy.

I think the most meaningful prayer sent my way came from Jocelyn who said it was often sung but sometimes spoken:

“For food in a world where many walk in hunger,
For faith in a world where many walk in fear,
For friends in a world where many walk alone,
We give you humble thanks, oh Lord.” 

To that I say, Amen!

What is your favorite meal-time prayer?

 

Confessions of a Snoopy Pants

With these hot summer days, I’m taking my walks in the cooler early morning and have discovered unexpected benefits. I walk farther. I encounter less human traffic and more pets, bunnies, and squirrels. Plus, it’s a lot more satisfying to shower when I arrive home knowing the exercise portion of my day is over and I can get on with life.

On most of these treks, I haul my carcass over the Tupper Street bridge for the added calorie-burn, then straight on until I come to Crescent Road. I usually then take the sidewalk on the north side rather than the walking path along the lake. I tell myself there’s more shade and less goose poop, but really it’s because I am snoopy. I love a close-up view of the homes and yards. I’m mind-boggled by the gorgeous landscaping, vibrant flowers, shrubs trimmed to perfection, rocks arranged just so with nary a weed. How do they do it? I could do yard work full time and my yard would still be mediocre. Not that I’d want to. And therein lies the secret, I suppose.

This adorable "Hobbit door" can be found in my home town.

I enjoy walking around Portage and seeing the variety of homes all jumbled in the same neighborhood. I love sizing up old houses and imagining what they originally looked like and who lived in them. It’s delightful when a hundred-year old house looks well kept but depressing when it’s not. Sometimes I’ll see an overgrown yard with perennials that might have been planted half a century ago fighting through weeds. Crumbling brick flower beds attached to the front of the house. Once gorgeous porches in shambles. My heart breaks a little whenever I see boarded and broken windows, knowing someone once loved and cared for that home.

My place would neither break your heart nor wow you with its beauty. I need to find other ways to bless my community and when I’m out walking, I can think of three. The first is simply that by keeping my body healthier, I’m bringing a better self to the world around me.

Secondly, I make a point of picking up at least one piece of litter every time. Sadly, I can always count on lots of options. Lately I’ve seen more face masks littering the ground than I see on faces. Seriously? I know my readers aren’t litterbugs, but I don’t know for sure whether they are litter picker-uppers.

Thirdly, I try to remember to pray for my community as I walk. You don’t need to know the people you’re praying for. Someone hasn’t found time to mow their grass? Pray for them, they’re probably under stress. These folks are renovating? Pray for peace in the household, because you know they’re going to need it. This house has a wheelchair ramp? Pray about all the challenges attached to living with a disability, both for the disabled person and their family or caregivers. See toys or a swing set? Pray for those children. That business. This school. That church. Every step you take can bring a blessing to your community, whether you see it or not.

 Happy snooping! I mean, walking.