Abraham and Isaac Genesis 22- Submission

Submission  and obedience. Ah those often most difficult of subjects for us ( well women...ok ME) . I have read and re read the story of Abraham and Isaac in Genesis 22  (http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=genesis%2022&version=NKJV).  Reading it recently  I thought about the act of giving up a child. Could I do that? I struggle with even giving up a place in line.

Yet Abraham at 100+ awakes one morning to the incredible command to sacrifice his only son. The son he and Sarah had been waiting for for so long... waiting obediently and faithfully. The more I thought about this Isaac had to have been about 10 or 12 ( bible scholars please correct me if I am wrong)-- old enough to leave the safety of his mother and camp, old enough to carry the wood up the mountain for the sacrifice. So this means the age where a parent stops seeing the baby in the face of your child and you start seeing the future--- the child's accomplishments, weddings, grandchildren. 

So here is  Abraham seeing the answered promise from all these years of allegiance to God's Will. And yet Abraham answers "Here I am" and  went to give up the most precious thing he had of this world, his most wonderful earthly possession... his son. The Bible doesn't tell us what Abraham thought ( please read the passages for yourself) it simply relates the story of Abraham's slow walk of faith up a mountain, to a known sacrifice. The Bible doesn't tell us if Abraham went willingly or wept as he went. He simply went,  trusting that the God that had provided and protected would do so again.  Hebrews 11:17.

The Faith of the Patriarchs Hebrews 11

¹⁷ By faith Abraham, when he was tested, offered up Isaac, and he who had received the promises offered up his only begotten son, ¹⁸ of whom it was said, “In Isaac your seed shall be called,”^[d] 19 concluding that God was able to raisehim up, even from the dead, from which he also received him in a figurative sense.

This willingness to Trust God created and nurtured the obedience of Abraham's Heart. We are given this story in the bible to understand more of GOD. Not that THE LORD  would cruelly require our children like some pagan god but to show us not until we are willing to give up the things holding us in this world ( Matthew 16:24) will we truly understand what HE is offering us.. all of HIMSELF. 

Abraham and Isaac: Genesis 22

His Voice, like a thunderclap,

commanded the impossible.

At dawn, the servants load the camels.

Sarah looks at me, silent yet full of questions.             

                You are the Lord, the One True God. I will follow.

Isaac, all of twelve, with laughing eyes,

helps me bundle the wood.

He teases the servants about our adventure.

They smile at him and tousle his black woolly hair.

All who see him smile.

Lord, You are Generous. I will follow.

Three days to Mt Moriah.

Three days to fill my heart with the song of Isaac’s laughter.

Three days to fill my eyes with the sight of his face,

the face that echoes my own with eyes so like Sarah’s.

The mountain comes too soon.

Lord, You are Good. I will follow.

We leave the servants.

I am old and gnarled

like the wood

I now place on his shoulders.

Isaac carries it easily,

scrambling up the slope

like a young goat.

Lord, You are Strength. I will follow.

The knife is heavy,

in my hand

and the smoke from the coals

burns my eyes.

               

                Lord, You are Mercy. I will follow.

Isaac questions me,

with a joke on his lips.

He thinks I  have forgotten 

what we will need.

He waits for me

with smiling deference.

Lord, You are Steadfast. I will follow.

I climb stiffly.

I am so old now.

If he fights me,

I may not be able to hold him.

I may not want to.

I place each piece of wood slowly

deliberately on the altar.

Can I add minutes to this day?

Can I add seconds to this moment?

Lord, You are Forgiveness. I will follow.

My hands shake.

My breath is old and ragged in my ears.

I dare not see the face of my child

as I wind the rope around his hands.

Yet Isaac’s hands are steady.

His breath as gentle as a lamb.

Calm and willing he is led to the altar.

                Lord, You are Faithful. I will follow

The knife is so heavy as I lift it.

I look down at Isaac.

I am blinded

by his obedience

And love.

The love of a Son for a Father.

The love for me.

My Son,

My Isaac knows his duty.

He has always known.

His faith is great.

His heart so full of love.

The Voice calls me out.

My voice is strong when I answer.

Yet my arms tremble

With what I am about to do.

                Here I am Lord! Here I am.

The sacrifice is pardoned.

A substitute provided.

My hand is staid.

I can breathe again.

I free my Isaac,

then free the life of the Ram

onto the altar.

Lord, You are Provision. I will follow.

I hold my son again.

His heartbeat is the song

of Love

of Promise,

of Covenant Fulfilled.

You are the Lord, the One True God. I will follow.

Part Two- patience of a 12 year old and generosity of a 5 year old

So here is the honest and true reflection I talked about in the previous post. I would really like this post to be a total brag about the generosity of my kids ( which would , of course, reflect on my awesomeness as a parent --right! ). But it is not...although my kids do have a generous spirit given completely by God and not me...and I already "Face-bragged" on facebook earlier with this photo.

So we have been talking about giving a lot in our house. About tithing, about offerings, about giving in general. We have given to organizations like Samaritan's Purse /http://www.samaritanspurse.org/ and World Vision /http://www.worldvision.org/ in the past and usually had a a lot of fun picking out the "goat" or "chickens" etc to give. We have, in the past, told the kids if they want to give some of their own money we would "match" or they could choose which gifts to give. We had talked about this all week and Sunday was going to be the deciding day. Well, the 12 year old and 9 year old excitedly counted out what they could give, figured out the "match" from mom and dad and what we could "get". Very thoughtful and generous. The 5 year old wanted nothing to do with it. This was his money and he wasn't giving anything. Forget it.

This all happened around the magical dinner time hour when I am my most rushed and least gentle in spirit and I ( parent fail coming ) just sent the 5 year old room. I wanted to SPANK him for his lack of spirit... but you can't spank generosity into someone, you can't force a loving heart...you can only nurture it through example and I was failing at that example miserably at that moment.

Jesus would not have spanked my 5 year old ( although I would like to think he would have) . Jesus would do exactly what my 12 year old did. She very calmly and patiently talked with her little brother about giving and needs. She talked about how much WE have and how little so many others have. She talked about how his 4 dollars would be multiplied and blessed to give so much more. How the rabbit he was "giving" was going to help a child eat that might not eat, help a child earn money for school that might not get to go.

This was an image of who we are at our truest selves...the beautiful reflection of God's patience and love mixed with equal parts stubborn selfishness sin. I'm not just talking about the 5 year old. I saw this discussion about giving as just one more task to do and was mad the 5 year old wasn't getting with the program so I could cross off the "to do" list.

I am grateful  my older two reflected the God of infinite patience and love to me and to their brother. I am also grateful for the 5 year old's honesty...and for God showing me my own stubbornness through him.

I pray you will see and feel God's Spirit and Presence this time. That your own nature can be "checked" and that God's nature will shine through

My truest self -- reflected from my 5 year old

This week I feel like God gave me two glimpses into the human condition...OK into my own self. The first one:

Our House--Erik and kids made this one!

Christmas Lights...I love Christmas lights. I love that my husband ( although reluctantly ) puts up our lights and manger display. I love driving around and seeing how creative people are from the store bought commercial giant inflatable kung fu panda Santa to the homemade creche and lights. I love Christmas music singing etc. So a few nights ago instead of driving around I decided to take a walk ( being a frigid 72 I felt we could handle it). The kids thought walking...at night...was crazy---it was dark after all.  So bribery with promised Hot Cocoa got the Monson kids to put on flip flops ( remember 72+ degrees ) , leash the dog, and head out. I tried to engage in the "teachable moment" conversation about symbols of Christmas and favorite Christmas songs. The responses were:

Favorite Christmas decoration ( kids point of view):
1. Giant Inflatables of any kind
2. Animitronic reindeer
3. Multi color lights

Favorite Christmas songs ( kids point of view)
1. "I'm gettin' Nuthin for Christmas" --the five year old
2. " Rudolf the Red nose Reindeer" -- the venison is yummy version--don't ask--its from teh 12 year old
3. anything mom --from the nine year old

Sigh-- So I decided to let go of the teachable moment and just enjoy my time with my kids. And low and behold ... singing. I began humming one of my favorites "Joy to the World" and they sang with me..all three.. while walking down the street. Then "Oh come all ye faithful", then "Silent Night".  With out prompting, with out pushing, with out some made up moment...just singing because God is Good, because He came and will Come Again.

Thank you Jesus. Thank you for giving me a glimpse of your beauty through my kids and Christmas lights.

Sheep's Head Mountain: for my Montana Family

Sheep's Head Mountain 

Sheep's Head Mountain stood like
a suspicious giant behind
Ronan, Montana.
A mere speck of  a city
yet large as a bored child's sigh,
still freshly weird
to a six year old big city girl.
Buried deep within the mountain's shadow
was grandpa's house.
         Grandpa are there really bears here?
         That's right little girl. Seen'em myself.
Flower fields by a crystalline stream
that called to you
on a hot day to play
like a bright mermaid.
Real cows, huge and wonderful
grazing near apple trees.
Jumping into freshly stacked hay,
with Montana cousins,
exotic with Northwest accents
and Montana sun in their hair.
Grandpa held the feline strays
with infinitely patient hands.
Those same hands,
gnarled and sun-stained,
carefully tied the line for fly fishing
or the bright blue ribbon
in his granddaughter's hair.
        Grandpa they're my ponytails, not puppy dog ears.
        OK, little girl. Wanna learn to catch trout?
He was a cheerful inquisitive bird
with his bright eyes and small smiles.
He sent fall leaves from Montana trees.
Precious artifacts from another world.
They were cherished
on a shelf lit by Texas Sun.
Fall leaf rainbows.
Mountain shadow smiles.

Dance Floor

For God in all his fullness was pleased to live in Christ, and through him God reconciled everything to himself. He made peace with everything in heaven and on earth by means of Christ’s blood on the cross. This includes you who were once far away from God. You were his enemies separated from him by your evil thoughts and actions. Yet now he has reconciled you to himself through the death of Christ in his physical body. As a result, he has brought you into his own presence, and you are holy and blameless as you stand before him without a single fault. Col 1:19-22

What came to my mind after reading these verses were certain songs… YMCA, Macarena, Cha-Cha Slide (everybody clap your hands), Thriller. You know the ones. If you’ve been at an elementary or middle school dance, wedding, bar mitzvah, or women’s’ retreat any time recently you’ve heard these songs. And something magical (stay with me here) seems to happen when these songs come on.  People come to the middle to dance. You see friends pulling friends in, kids daring each other to move, wives dragging in husbands, all are invited in.  Some times with great enthusiasm (yours truly), with great athleticism (not yours truly), or with a rather sheepish quiet excitement they come. And they dance. And they laugh. And they smile. And they are together in the middle.  Whether or not they can dance, or they have rhythm, or they even know all the words or can do all the movements they come, because none of those things really matter because its about the music and being together again in the middle.

To me, these verses are an invitation to come back, recognition that things are different now.

You were his enemies, separated from him by your evil thoughts and actions.

At some point, we are all on the outside. We try to dance alone on the outside even as the harsh unnatural rhythms of our sins, of our own nature become misstep after painful misstep. We ignore the True Song written in our hearts that was there before there was sin, before there was an outside, when we were still there in the middle of the Dance of Father Son Holy Spirit.  But we ignore the True Song thinking that we alone are the ones who make the music or that this deep rhythm of our heart, of God’s heart, could never be truly for us.

Yet now he has reconciled you to himself through the death of Christ in his physical body...he has brought you into his presence…

But now we hear this new music bringing us back to the dance floor.  We are called back through Christ and perfected in His Song. There is an open dance card and a space on the floor.

You are holy and blameless as you stand before him with out a single fault.

I am no longer alone. I am no longer on the outside. I am called back by the Spirit into the waiting arms of the Son, to dance before the Father, to dance with my sisters, to dance as One.

Christmas in July or August. Shepherd Song

Images of Jesus birth are often full of angel chorus in the night sky witnessed by some shepherds. A lovely bucolic scene perfect for the flannel graph. My thought reading this passage is always about what kind of men the shepherds were.

Outside at night in the cold and rain. Dirty with the smells of animals and camp fires. Watching for the predators...wolf, lion, fellow man...anyone that could harm their livelihood the rather stupid sheep. These were hard men, not easily shaken.

Yet their first response was not  " Hey, Bud did you see that?" but worship,belief, evangelism. Having witnessed the Angels' Song of Truth , that The LORD, the one true GOD had come down to them, for them, to bring them back like some lost sheep; the shepherds ran to spread the Gospel.

Praying you can witness truth like that. And that you will RUN to spread the song.

The Shepherd’s Song : Luke 2:8-20

The night was cold. No moon, no stars.

Only inky clouds giving nothing

but the promise of rain.

The sheep huddled together –

Their low breathy cries

Hovered above them like a strange mist.

My older brother called the flock,

accounting for each one.

He did the night watch with me, the youngest.

He always went after the lost ones

Bringing them back triumphantly around his shoulders.

The counting done,

I lay down on the hard packed earth,

staring a the black sky

wondering when the rain would come,

if it could wash away the sweat and stink

of sheep that stained my hands.

Dark sky, black night,

suddenly broken

filled with LIGHT.

Light! More than the stars and the moon,

more than the Sun.

Light. More than a thousand suns.

Light.

It pushed into my eyes.

Light.

It pushed me to my knees,

my face in the dirt.

Everywhere, beautiful

Terrible Light.

No sound save my brother’s fearful breathing.

Then a Voice.

A Voice of wind in valleys

And water crashing on rocks.

A Voice that held me

to the ground and pierced my bones.

Do not be afraid!

I bring you GOOD NEWS

Of Great Joy!

The Voice spoke of a child, a Savior.

Then a thousand voices

filled the night.

They sang of

Battle and Victory.

They sang of

Loss and Triumph.

They sang of

Glory and Love.

Glory to God in The Highest!

The quiet returned.

The crickets picked up their night song.

A mother ewe bleated questioningly.

Her lamb quickly answered.

My brother, oldest, strongest, fearless…

was weeping,

His face streaked with mud.

“We were lost and now found.

Our King has found us.

A shepherd’s king.

The Shepherd King.

Let us go and find HIM.

Let us go

And Sing.”

Lilly Monson 11/18/2010

Falling Stars- What summer should be.

With about 5 minutes of trolling on pinterest, facebook, etc you can find literal libraries worth of information on what to do with your kids during summer, how to do things with your kids during summer, why you should organize/teach/inspire/make more of your kids during summer.

 I know the majority of this information is meant to give inspiration and encouragement to parents but most of the time ( at least for me ) it is laced with a fair helping of guilt.  I am not saying we should not seize "teachable moments" ( what a silly term-- your actions are constantly teaching from the food you put in your mouth to the actions you take or don't take ) or that we , as parents shouldn't erect healthy boundaries.

But sometimes its good for them to be bored and outside with friends, sometimes its good for them to work hard at something that has no purpose other than imagination-- they aren't going to show it to you for approval or show it off for comparison.

I wrote this poem a long time ago remembering a friend. I hope you enjoy it.

Falling Stars

Rebecca had long black braids

her momma fixed

every summer morning

before she came over.

She was nine, me seven.

Her quick smile rescued me

from older brothers and TV boredom.

We crashed through driveways,

our bicycles

becoming rocket ships.

The wind whipped our hair

into victory flags

and tore our laughter

into cries of triumph.

Conquistadors,

in bright hand-me-downs

we claimed her backyard swing set

in the name of Spain.

We hunted the Great White Lion,

My slow-footed lazy cat,

Through the jungle of Mom’s tomato garden.

We spent the night outside

In Dad’s old green tent,

Reveling in the sweet musty smell

Of old canvas mixed with the summer night.

We made faces out of the moon,

Then went outside,

Spinning ourselves around holding hands

Until we threw ourselves

On the warm wet grass.

Laughing we looked up

And fell into the stars. 

My blog profile was temporarily taken over by the above "guest blogger" as her blog http://guinealore.blogspot.com/ was under construction. Snowball and her sister Ruffles asked for my assistance ( along with my daughter -- their owner ) in creating the blog to record their "exploits". The posts are in the process of being published now so  I do hope you enjoy all things Guinea .

Skipping Stones

            My kids are almost 12 (Victoria), almost 9 (Matt), and almost 6 (Luke). To say “almost” is my way of standing still in their childhood a little longer holding onto these pockets of time with a vise like “mommy” grip.  But Time, or more specifically change, has lately seemed like some sneaky middle school bully following me down the hallway. Everything is wonderful and I am oblivious until the unseen foot trips me and – WHAM!  I’m suddenly face down, trying to catch my breath, books splayed, wondering “what the heck just happened?!” 

Lest you think I am permanently scarred from Middle School or paranoid (although I did teach Middle School English at one time which can lead to both scarring and paranoia) let me explain.  Sitting on the couch going through Victoria’s old scrapbook baby albums everything is wonderful. Her album is full with pictures, dates, stats, and details all highlighted with stickers and glitter pen. Being our first kid, I went big time on her scrapbook (at least as big time as a non-crafter can go). So, there I sit fully immersed in Baby Victoria World, tracing each picture with my fingers – on this page. One year old, Victoria taking a bath chubby sausage legs dangling. Victoria 2 year olds cherubic cheeks laughing with her daddy.  Victoria 3 years old her eyes dancing as she twirls around---when WHAM! Time, in the form of the almost 12 year old Victoria, plops down next to me.  The pudgy sausage legs have lengthened into something long and colt-like, a woman’s face has begun to angle itself from underneath her round cheeks, and her green eyes hold a little more knowledge than I am comfortable with. I am bewildered. She is beautiful. And I can’t breathe. Somewhere I think I hear Time laughing.

            But this can’t be how God wants us to view His gift of time. Time is not a way to beat ourselves up with what we had or bully ourselves over regret. Nor are we meant to freeze each moment like a page in a scrapbook highlighted in glitter pen static and disconnected from the wonderful reality sitting right next to you.

            God has blessed me with Memory and Time.  He wants me to cherish what He has given me but be able to let it go …or I won’t be able to embrace what He is giving me right now or what He has for me next if I am just willing to follow.

It is good to let go. Right? I look at my girl and realize I have already let go of the baby, will someday let go of the girl, and eventually let go of the woman as she skips out onto whatever God has planned for her.  Will I appreciate this present moment with more gratitude knowing it must be set down? It is good to let go. I don’t mean abandonment – it is my privilege, my right, my duty to walk through every turn with her from poor grades and bad boy friends to hurt relationships and career problems. To know I have less and less to do with whether or not she will be hurt or loved, whether she will fly true or sink. To simply love my children with gratitude and humility knowing I will let them go…

Last summer we went camping around Beaver’s Bend State Park in Oklahoma. My beloved husband Erik wanted to do more fishing with the boys and Victoria wanted to swim.  I really didn't want to do either but decided “girl time” might be more fun and less serious. (Fishing is serious business at our house). Erik found a reservoir area on the lake with fast water and lots of fishing on one side of the road and a rather scraggly beach on the other side. It was already late summer night but still warm and light.

 So Victoria and I head to what turned out to be a gently sloping drop of rocky scrub and small trees ending in about 5 feet of pebbly beach.  Victoria is nimble like a mountain goat and already in the water by the time I slip and slide around pine trees to get to her.  The water is shallow and smooth occasionally rippling from the wake of distant passing water skiers. Victoria seems to know I really don’t want to swim and is content to just hang out with mom. I am immediately grateful for her nature. 

We sit with the slowly cooling water lapping at our legs. Victoria absentmindedly sorts the stones and rocks all around us into piles, tossing them here or there in some secret organization of her own making.  I feel the pressure to seize a “teachable mom moment”. I ask her questions I’m not really sure I want answered - questions about bullies, changes in her body, what she believes. I am so ridiculously glad when her answers are simple and positive:

"There are some mean kids, Mom, but no real bullies. I have good friends."

She picks up a large flat rock shot through with color.

"I really like the way God made me mom."

She weighs the rock in both hands before answering the last one.

"God is good mom; I know He is with me."

She tosses the rock aside with a fluid motion and it skips three times across the water.

“Victoria! Did you see that? It skipped three times.” I laugh delightedly at her new found skill and the smile that slides across her face.  Suddenly, she is an expert on rocks and purposefully begins to search the knee deep water for the perfect specimen. I dig in to help.

“No Mom. Pick the flat ones that look like pancakes. See?”. She stands up and releases a small oval of stone. It skips once, twice.

“See. Like this one Mom. And flick your wrist out like this.” The next rock floats out touching once, twice, three times before gently dropping into the water.

We keep testing which ones go further, which ones sink. It is late and getting darker but I’m not ready to go. I want to stand still in the water next to her just a little longer.

I pick up one more stone.

“What about this one Victoria?”

“Mom it is perfect!” She smiles enthusiastically. “You can make it hop like four or five times. I know it!”

This one is perfect. It is round and smooth on both sides. It seems meant to sit in my palm warm from the water. It is beautiful. My fingers curl around it protectively without thinking. I don’t want to let it go. This one is mine and it fits.  

I look at Victoria. I can just see the future echo of the woman she might become. Will she fly out straight touching down at just the right time or drop into the depths? Will she be made smooth and rounded or become hardened and sharp edged? Can I let her go?

I let the last stone fly.

“One- two-three-four skips Mom! SO COOL.”

Victoria hugs me hard.  “Come on Mom. Let’s go get the boys.”

She scrambles ahead of me.

“Mooom, come on!” She laughs impatiently.

“I’m right behind you sister-girl. I will follow.”

I hold her in my heart.

Thank you, God.

I will follow.

 

For you

The title and verse come from a teaching series from my home church, Irving Bible Church, done by the preaching and teaching team over a year ago. It was wonderful and insightful and re-emphasized to me the idea of being a part of this world yet set apart from the world. Here is a link to the sermons which, I believe, are free downloads, 
http://www.irvingbible.org/media/view/series/a-peculiar-people/

 I wish I could say I had the original idea of using this verse from Peter or at least the originality of the title but... nope totally stolen. ;)


I actually started this blog over a year ago as a way of sharing my poetry and writing and didn't publish it. Why you may ask? If I really feel I am "set apart", "peculiar" belonging to HIM who made me, I should be completely unafraid of proclaiming my beliefs, un-phased by the idea of possible criticism of the literary kind -for the following writing or  the theological kind for the statement of belief. In all honesty I am lazy and a bit of a chicken.


But God is gentle with us when our fear is genuine and tough with us when it is unfounded. So here goes.  I will publish  a few times a week, poetry or writing inspired from something I've read in scripture. I am no theologian so I hope you do not expect any specific religious insight ( you will be disappointed -- and really if you want a word from God-- go to HIM). I am a so-so writer ( I will link to blogs of my much more creatively gifted friends -- as soon as I figure out how).  Its just that when I take the time to pray and listen and pray and listen through His Word... God gives me something back. And I am giving it back to HIM and to you. 

Here is Poem Number One based on response to Matthew 4:1-11. This passage recounts Jesus' temptation in the wilderness and is also also referenced in Mark 1 and Luke 4.  Borrow a bible if you don't have one or just go to http://www.biblegateway.com/ for a passage look up. Don't rely on my interpretation ( or anyone elses please-- go read your BIBLE) . 

To me this is one of the first images of Christ's Humanity -- fasting, hungry, he had to have been tired, depleted,  physically weak.  And yet he relied on God's Word for protection and even provision. Christ was and is always teaching us ,showing us, revealing Himself to us. 

The Answer Matthew 4:1-11

The sun bakes my lips into thin dry lines.

40 days and nights.

I feel the hunger in my bones.

The Adversary comes.

This time, his smile full of cunning

as the smell of warm bread rises from the stones.

            My Father’s will sustains me.

  My Father will sustain you.

40 days.

Sandals long past worn,

Each step sears my soles.

40 days and nights.

I stumble and the blood runs from my feet.

The Adversary comes again.

His voice whispers a challenge

red with mockery and rage.        

           My Father’s will, I will not test.

           My Father will give you strength and rest.

           

40 days.

My cloak is torn and bites against my skin.

40 days and nights.

My cloak wraps around me like a shroud.

The Adversary comes again…

Silken robes adorn him

while his worldly trumpets sound.

            I will not bow down.

            He can not understand what could be worth,

  more than his kingdom of dusty earth.

  He can not know my Love.

I am the Word

that spoke the stars into the sky.

I am the Truth

that tears the Holy Curtain down.

I am the Fire

that will burn each heart anew.

He can not know

My Love

For You.