The Secret of Communion

Hello. My name is Lauren, and I am a hopeless romantic.

Hi, Lauren. Welcome to Hopeless Romantics Anonymous. 

I probably should've checked myself into hopeless romantic rehab years ago, but somewhere between being able to devour a four hundred page romance novel in one day to where I am now, the romanticism toned itself down to a far more reasonable level.

Still, I picked up a book at the library several weeks ago called "Completely His," and it rekindled the hopeless romantic inside of me. Sheila Walsh, the author, described communion in a way that I had never encountered before, and I want to share it with you.

Back in Bible days, proposals were always the same- a man offered his wife-to-be of choice a cup of wine, and if she accepted the cup and drank from it, she became his betrothed. Obviously, if she rejected it, he knew that she had also rejected him.

After the woman accepted his proposal, he would immediately begin constructing a new room in his father's home- a room where the marriage would eventually be consummated.

Now, how can anyone with a properly-functioning brain hear that and not call God a hopeless romantic? For when He sent His Son to earth, He not only offered us a cup and said, "Take, drink in remembrance of Me," but He also said, "In My Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with Me, that you also may be where I am." (John 14:2-3)

Hopeless romanticism must run in the family.

Pick up Your Sword...

You never know what lessons God will teach you, using the smallest ways. Today I was walking home from helping in a preschool class. It was a morning filled with songs, blocks, glue, glitter, giggles, and smiles. A day couldn't get much better than that.

As I was walking home, I marveled at God's creation. The sky was a perfect shade of December blue, and the air was crisp and clean. Just one of those days that are meant to be lived, you know?

It was a pleasant walk home, minus one detail. Dogs. Six of them, in fact, found me great for barking at. I did not even know there were six on our part of the street. One little, fluffy sandy-gold dog in particular came dashing through the yard and began yapping at my heals, and he meant business. He seemed to boldly say, Arf! Arf! Not on my yard, lady! Not on my yard!

But each time I turned toward him, or even stopped walking, he actually would jump backyards, cowering and would even start to whimper! I knew right away he was, as they say, all bark and no bite. And pretty pathetic.

While I wish it wasn't true, I am a lot like that annoying, pathetic little dog. I take a bold move, then the enemy strikes back, I instantly cower.

I'll witness to that girl.
She'll think you're strange.
Will she? Oh, well, then maybe there's someone else to do the job.

Sound familiar? I think the key lies in truly donning the armor of God. Far too often, I'm afraid, the Ephesians 6 Armor of God has been watered down by a set of plastic armor toys, or a cardboard sword covered in foil for a Sunday School lesson. But the Armor of God is serious business. When we ask for the shield of faith, He gives it to us. When those flaming darts come towards us we have a shield to guard us and we won't stumble backyards!

If you are feeling like a two-faced fluffy little dog, then I strongly recommend a dose of Ephesians 6: 10-20. I will be first to admit, though, that I have been fearful, shy, worried, selfish, uncaring, and simply pathetic time after time after time. I don't know about you, but this soldier must not hesitate to train. The enemy plays to be strong, but our God is truly mighty. Will you pick up your sword with me?

What I Have I Give

It was a frigid evening in downtown Kalamazoo, and I was headed for a stage door to make my way down to the orchestra pit when a woman called out to me.

"Excuse me, ma'am," she began matter-of-factly, "can you spare a few dollars to buy me some Happy Meals from McDonald's? If you don't believe that that's actually what I want, you can buy them yourself."

I didn't have time to consider this offer, as I was only a few minutes shy of running late for call time, and that's exactly what I told her.

"Well, couldn't you spare some change or a couple of dollars?" she persisted. I've read so many books about addicts and what they'll do to get drug money, and I certainly didn't want to risk paying her to keep up a deadly habit. But I couldn't just wave good-bye, either. What if she was actually telling the truth and had little ones at home who had nothing to eat?

"I really do need to go," I said quickly, then jumped out on a limb. "Can I pray for you, though?"

Since I've been cursed out several times after taking this approach with complete strangers, I wasn't sure how she would respond.

She beamed, told me her name, and let me place my hand on her shoulder as I said a quick prayer over her. I asked God to give her wisdom and provide for her needs, thanking Him for always keeping His promises. After I said "amen," she smiled again and thanked me quickly before heading off into the darkness.

As I descended into the orchestra pit that night, I thought of Peter in Acts 3 and the man to whom he said, "Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have I give to you." When he commanded the paralyzed man to walk, he was giving him a gift far greater than any amount of wealth could ever equal. Instead of handing him a few dollars and trying to come up with something impressively Christian to say, he used the authority of Jesus Christ to change his existence forever.

The Journey

A few months ago I had the opportunity to spend a day at a dude ranch in the middle of nowhere in Arkansas. While I could share the graphic details of my bout with dehydration or complain about how many phone calls and text messages I got about work-related things while I stood on the side of the mountain, I will spare you.

It was a great day.

The sun was shining, the temperature was in the high seventies, and the mountain breeze was calmly rustling the changing leaves. My dad and my brother spent the day climbing, and I was their part-time photographer, (or, as Levi called me, the "Photawg Dawg,") but I also got to explore to my heart's content.

When I reached the ladder in the picture above, I almost decided to head back to the guys and make that the end of my journey. But something about it called me upward, so I climbed it.

The journey nearly came to a halt a second time when I reached a spot where I had a lovely view of the canyon and almost decided that I didn't need to climb higher. After all, I could see pretty well.

What changed my mind was the fact that I was almost to the top. Glancing upward, I finally decided to hike to the very highest point (which was also the hardest to get to) and that was when I took this photo:

While I was walking back down, thought about how much each step of my climb resembled our Christian walk. Sometimes we get so easily satisfied with mediocrity. "Well, I'm a Christian, and that's that!" We (myself included) don't pursue our Father. We settle for just carrying His name.

Then there are those of us who take the first few steps, but never enter into the intimacy of His presence. Maybe we're not cold, but there's certainly a difference between lukewarm and hot.

But, oh, when we make the decision to follow Jesus all of the way to Himself! When we lay aside everything that entangles us and make the journey to His arms, there is such peace and joy to be found.

There was a lovely view from the ground beneath that metal ladder, but it was only a glimpse of what could be discovered when you went the extra mile.

Onward and upward!