Author: jdunderwood

Pondering Philippians 1:6, part 2

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Just a fun picture of PJ and Chai. She is so patient! One of the girls--I think Kelly--took this picture.

Just a fun picture of PJ and Chai. She is so patient! One of the girls–I think Kelly–took this picture.

One day last week, I threw the ingredients for bread into the mixing bowl of my bread machine and hit the start button for the dough cycle. Two hours later the machine finished its work and I lifted the lid, ready to punch down the risen dough and form it for its second rise.

But I’d forgotten to add yeast. The dough, flat and sodden, lay at the bottom of the mixing bowl.
I am often like that dough, struggling to rise but lacking the power. I am full of desires to do more and be more, but when I try to figure out the “what” or “how” on my own, I either slip into despair at my inability and failures OR I get puffed up over my itty-bitty accomplishments (until I eventually I fail and then fall into despair.)
But all was not lost for the sodden dough in my bread machine. I added the yeast and started the machine again. Two hours later the top of it bounced when I touched it, and an hour after that, light, fluffy rolls made my kitchen smell wonderful!
And all is not lost for me! When I strive-and-fail, strive-and-fail, I forget this truth: I was NEVER meant to provide the power for my growth; the Holy Spirit is my yeast! The Spirit provides the power to rise!
Jude verse 24 is another verse that reminds me that GOD is the one who holds me. I chose to use the Amplified version of Jude 24 for this blog entry because it uses the word “falling” (it’s in bold—my emphasis) and that seemed appropriate:
“Now to Him Who is able to keep you without stumbling  or slipping or falling, and to present [you] unblemished (blameless and faultless) before the presence of His glory in triumphant joy and exultation [with unspeakable, ecstatic delight]—
25 To the one only God, our Savior through Jesus Christ our Lord, be glory (splendor), majesty, might  and dominion, and power and authority, before all time and now and forever (unto all the ages of eternity). Amen (so be it).”
Isn’t that awesome! My own desires to be more/do more–there is no way they can compare with Christ’s goals for me! He says he want to present me before the Father faultless and in ecstatic delight! And He reminds me that He is ABLE to do just that.
HE is able! Not me!
His Spirit–the Comforter–is with me (John 14:16, 26).
And THAT is why I can be confident that God will complete the work He has begun in me (Philippians 1:6).

Pondering Philippians 1:6, part 1

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As young people—in our teens and even twenties—possibilities often seem endless. I remember thinking I could be a doctor like my dad and help lots of people with their health issues—maybe on the mission field. I could write the next great children’s novel—and be like Madeleine L’Engle. I could open an orphanage. I could…

Now life feels more limited–and a lot more complex. I understand that opening one door means closing another. I see so many needs and often feel helpless to assist. I know children are starving around the globe and I look at my comfortable lifestyle and wonder what biblical living means for those of us who stay in the suburbs. I struggle with the differences between needs and wants. I wonder if all the “little” things I do each day are really making a difference. Is THIS what I’m supposed to be doing? I sometimes wonder.

The Christian life no longer seems like endless possibilities; it seems wrapped up in—perhaps even restricted by—“small” choices within everyday life.

But in the midst of my questions, my wondering, I’m learning to cling to the promise of Philippians 1:6—“…being confident of this, that He who began a good work in (me) will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.”

And lately God has given me the privilege of seeing that verse “fleshed out” in the lives of some older believers.

Because of the writing assignments I do for Wheaton Academy, I often get to interview believers much older than myself. They tell me their stories and about what has happened with them since they left Wheaton Academy. In their 70s and 80s, they don’t focus on the “small stuff” that unfortunately controls much of my early-40s, mom-to-6-kids, suburban life. But I know they DID experience these things; I’m not always talking to people who lived their entire lives on the mission field. Like me, most of the people I interview have children. They, too, bought homes and “settled” and lived in American culture. They, too, worked and had to bring home a paycheck to feed and clothe and pay sports fees and activity fees and for the cleats and shinguards and guitars to take to the sports and activities.

But they have something I don’t, a vantage point that I usually lack. They have a long view. One of them recently said this to me: I look back on all my career, all the jobs and changes and successes, and on our family life, and I see God purposefully preparing me and my circumstances for what I am doing now, in my golden years.

This bird was hanging out in a tree in our backyard a week or so ago. Hawk? Falcon? Anybody know? Whatever it was, it was big and fun to watch.

This bird was hanging out in a tree in our backyard a week or so ago. Hawk? Falcon? Anybody know? Whatever it was, it was big and fun to watch.

This man didn’t orchestrate things; he just did what came next—which is what I feel like I do most days, wondering if it’s what I’m supposed to be doing, wondering if it’s of any eternal purpose. This man didn’t have the long view IN the moment, in the journey. He just put one step in front of another and NOW he can look back and catch a glimpse of the pattern. He sees how all the “little” was part of the BIG, and that helps him to trust that there is an even bigger, even deeper pattern beyond and beneath what he is able to see right now.

And his long view helps ME to be “convinced and sure of this very thing, that He Who began a good work in (me) will continue until the day of Jesus Christ [right up to the time of His return], developing [that good work] and perfecting and bringing it to full completion in (me.)” Phil. 1:6 Amplified version.

Heads up!

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Here's our flooded backyard! But our basement is dry. Very grateful! a lot of people around here are flooded!

Here’s our flooded backyard! But our basement is dry. Very grateful! a lot of people around here are flooded!

As I read the devotional Jesus Calling early this morning, one particular sentence stood out to me: “I (God) designed you to need Me moment by moment.”

Hmm, I thought, that is the complete opposite of human parenting–or at least of my version of it. I am trying to get my children to be less dependent on me, to be more self-sufficient each year, to increase their problem-solving skills. I often tell them, “Before you call ‘Mo-om!’ immediately, ask yourself if you can do this on your own.”

But God wants me to be more aware of my dependence on Him, more aware of my lack of self-sufficiency and of my inability to control anything.

I jotted these thoughts in my journal, worked out, made sure all the kids were up and moving, fixed Patrick’s breakfast… and then learned that school was cancelled because of all the flooding in our area. My kids literally went off like fireworks. I think you could have heard them from the street.

Was I happy for them?

This bird seemed a little confused by all the water. So it perched on our back deck (and, yes, those are still Christmas lights. Honest, though, all the other Christmas stuff has been put away for ages.)

This bird seemed a little confused by all the water. So it perched on our back deck (and, yes, those are still Christmas lights. Honest, though, all the other Christmas stuff has been put away for ages.)

Ye-es.

But I must admit I had to readjust my idea of the day I thought I was going to have. Better get ready to hear “Mom!” all day long, I told myself.

And then I laughed! Because I remembered Jesus Calling and my lesson of the morning.

It was very nice of Him to give me a heads-up!

a tired day

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This is the rain on my car sunroof today.

This is the rain on my car sunroof today.

I’m tired.

I’ve pumped caffeine into my system, but still… I’m tired.

The day is tired: wet and dreary, windy and dark.

The weather is tired. Unlike last year—when Spring sprung early—she is tardy with a capital T this year. The tree limbs are dark and bare and it’s downright cold out there.

Our schedule is tired: on top of the usual studying, teaching, writing, five of the eight of us are either coaching or playing soccer on four different teams and I’m directing a small play. And the poor boys get dragged around to everything—and that makes them tired.

If I were to let myself be swayed completely by my feelings and the lack of sunlight, I’d just crawl under my down comforter (which is STILL necessary!) and not come out for a good long while. Maybe I’d read a book and pretend myself into a sunlit world.

I’m really, really, really glad that the way I feel doesn’t change YOU, God.

You are the same: yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

No matter what the weather.

(And no matter how busy Your schedule!)

Check this out! please!

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Hi everyone,

I am TOO busy right now to do what I just did.

But I couldn’t help it.

For one of the articles I’m currently working on, I interviewed a man whose daughter died of cancer a little over two years ago. She was just a few years older than I am. He mentioned that she blogged and that, in his opinion, she was a wonderful writer and was still helping people go through difficult times through her blog.

So, being a good researcher (ha ha), I checked it out.

And I can’t stop reading it!

Laurie Jane is a wonderful writer! I feel like I know her through her blog, and I am definitely looking this woman up when I get to heaven!

So I wanted to pass it on. Here’s the link to the latest post, which, I’m just warning you, made me cry, because it’s written by one of her friends announcing Laurie Jane’s homegoing: http://beautyliesinthetruestory.blogspot.com/

But if you want to start at the beginning and read how this funny, sassy, deep woman dealt with terrible, terrible pain and trials and how she drew closer to Jesus through it, here’s the link to the very first page of blog entries: http://beautyliesinthetruestory.blogspot.com/search?updated-min=2009-01-01T00:00:00-08:00&updated-max=2009-06-15T16:09:00-07:00&max-results=50&start=98&by-date=false

I’m hoping this helps someone–besides me–today.

Thanks for reading,

Jen

Tweet response

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A couple days I tweeted about trust in God and I used the word “converse.”

Val, a good friend who teaches geometry, responded, “Hi friend, I just wanted to comment on your post about the converse statement. Did you mean to say inverse instead? Inverse statements are when you negate both the hypothesis and conclusion. Converses are when you just switch your hypotheses and conclusion but don’t negate. Sorry if I am being nerdy, but love teaching this in geometry.”

Did you understand that?

I messaged back that I need to take her class.

I’ve often marveled at how she LOVES geometry, at how her mind understands concepts that just boggle mine. Judy, one of my international daughters, is in Val’s advanced geometry class. When Judy did her first homework assignment, I took one look and said, “Well, you’re not going to get any help from me in that subject.”

One of the benefits of my job (writing stories for Wheaton Academy’s website and magazine) is that I get to sit in on all kinds of classes and listen to teachers share their passions with students. Just in the last few weeks I’ve watched science students make E. coli bacteria glow (they injected jellyfish genes into it!); history students experience the Depression by standing in a soup line; and theatre students fly—literally!—in this year’s musical, Peter Pan.

As I interview teachers, asking how they came up with their ideas, I’m fascinated by all the different ways they think. The drama teacher dreams in images and themes; the science teacher is fascinated by the interconnectedness of small with big; the history teachers see the cycles of humanity through the ages.

I listen and am amazed at the breadth of knowledge there is just on this planet. There is so much to know—and the more we know, the more we realize we DON’T know—and one human mind can only grasp a very small portion of a very small sliver of it.

And it all comes from our infinite God.

Isn’t that incredible!

Think about the huge amount of knowledge that mankind now knows. Then think about how much is discovered each day—how much will be discovered the next day and the next and the next, each discovery revealing that there is still more to know. Isaiah 55:9, Hebrews 4:13,

Imagine all the “unseen” things that we cannot view with microscopes or telescopes, no matter how high-powered. An entire spiritual realm hovers outside our senses. Ephesians 3:10

Reflect on the ages of recorded human history and the ages before that—when “time” was not measured by the ticking of a clock or the flip of a calendar page but was encompassed in God Himself (as it still is!). Jude 1:25

Have you ever fully known a person—inside and out. For that matter, do you fully know yourself? Think of all the billions of people in this world, each unique in personality. Now remember that there were billions upon billions of people before—each one individual even down to fingerprints. I Chron. 28:9, I Cor. 4:5, I Sam. 16:7

All of this, all of everything, is in God! It came from Him. It has its being in Him. It is sustained by Him.

And He fully understands ALL of it.

Wow!

Are you feeling a little small now?

I am.

Small in the presence of our BIG God.

That’s a good thing.

 

Longing

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I took this last year right about the same time as now--Spring will come, an idea that parallels this post.

I took this last year right about the same time as now–Spring will come, an idea that parallels this post.

Friday morning, as we drove the long curve of the school driveway, we passed a father running on the sidewalk with his young daughter. They held hands, and her pink backpack—nearly as big as she—bounced lightly on her back. They had plenty of time before the late bell, so their running wasn’t forced.

It was joyful.

And it made me smile.

Emily, in the front seat next to me, made it better when she said, softly, “That’s Mr. G——–, Mom—who is now cancer free!”

Tears almost came then. Em and I had prayed several times for this family. In the late fall, requests for prayer were updated almost weekly: his treatments were difficult; his children were shell-shocked; his prognosis wasn’t good. Then there was a period of silence, and I, at least, assumed the worst.

Two hours after I dropped the kids off at school, the image of the father and daughter running together was still hovering in my mind—a spot of bright pink joy.

But underneath it was something else, something less joyful. And I couldn’t figure out what that was, until I heard an interview with Kay Warren on the radio about her book, Choose Joy, released last year. She described our present lives as train tracks of sorrow and joy. Here on earth we travel both—like a railroad car, a wheel on each track. Even in great sorrows, there are flickers of joy and good, but the opposite is also true: even in times of peace and joy, there is sorrow (in some part of our lives and certainly in the world at large).

Then I understood what was haunting my joy.

It was the knowledge that sorrow still exists and can strike at any moment—has already struck so, so many.

“Man is born to trouble,” said Eliphaz to Job, “as surely as the sparks fly upward.” There’ s much that Eliphaz says that is not necessarily correct, but this statement—it’s true!

But we still feel joy when we see/hear things like I did that morning. All moments and stories of restoration bring joy—because when we see them, we hope that maybe, someday, things will be good and right forever. We hope that these snapshot moments of joy will somehow become eternal.

We long for a day when our longing is completely fulfilled.

This is such a strange idea. It’s a mystery, really. We long for what we have never known. In all of human history, there has never been a time of complete, worldwide peace. There has never been a marriage or a family without some kind of dysfunction. Jesus said, “The poor and vulnerable people are always with you”—and it’s true: we still have them. Injustice and abuse: they’ve always been around, along with fatigue, depression, tragedy…

So why do we have a longing for what we have never, ever seen anyone experience? Why do we have a longing that we know will not be fulfilled?

This kind of deferred/unfulfilled longing can make a person sick (Proverbs 13:12).

Who did this to us?

God steps up and says that He did. He put an eternity-sized hole in our hearts that can only be fulfilled with Himself (Eccl. 3:11, Amplified version), and He watches us stuff it with things that simply cannot fill it.

This would be cruel, except that God has made a way to fill this hole.

Christ! He is called “the Hope of Glory!” (Colossians 1:27) the HOPE that all will be glorified, that one day suffering will be NO MORE!

Kay Warren reminded her listeners that if they look down parallel train tracks, they join together in the distance.

Sorrow will be swallowed up in joy.

I don’t have that reality or even that perspective yet, but Christ continually renews my hope that it WILL BE. He has promised that my longing for a never-ending good that I can see and touch WILL be fulfilled.

And in the parallel-track meantime, He opens my eyes to the joy He provides every day, even in the midst of sorrow.

In Isaiah 49, God tells the Israelites that One Day, their longing will be fulfilled. “Then you will know that I am the Lord,” He tells them—because THAT is the answer.

And then He gives them a promise to carry them to the final answer:

“Those who hope in me will not be disappointed.” (emphasis mine)

*I mentioned Kay Warren in this post. A day after I listened to her interview—and wrote the rough draft of this post—her 27-year-old son died. I cannot imagine her pain. Please be praying for hope and joy in the midst of her family’s incredible sorrow in losing their son.

*Following is a C.S. Lewis quote that I’ve been thinking of as I’ve written this.

From “The Weight of Glory” Chapter 1, Paragraph 1:
If there lurks in most modern minds the notion that to desire our own good and earnestly to hope for the enjoyment of it is a bad thing, I submit that this notion has crept in from Kant and the Stoics and is no part of the Christian faith. Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires, not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.

Our Passover

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We are in the process of converting the 1970s cowboy-themed basement family room into Dave's and my bedroom (with office space for me!). When Dave painted all the rough wood, this crack-- in the shape of a cross--emerged!

We are in the process of converting the 1970s cowboy-themed basement family room into Dave’s and my bedroom (with office space for me!). When Dave painted all the rough wood, this crack– in the shape of a cross–emerged.

Younger daughter Maddie was looking at the calendar this morning. “Mom,” she asked, “why don’t we celebrate Passover?”

“Oh, we do, hon,” I answered. “We celebrate the biggest Passover of all.”

“We do? But Passover is today. It says so on the calendar.”

“EASTER is our Passover, sweetheart—Good Friday and Easter together. It’s the ultimate Passover. The very first Passover and all the celebrations after were pointing to THE Passover, when God allowed His firstborn to die so that we might live.”

God allowed His firstborn to die—so that we might live.

I am sitting across the table from my firstborn right now. She is eating her cereal; I am drinking my coffee. We have just had a conversation about how great I think she is, about how glad I am to be her mom (she really is a pretty cool kid).

And I am reminded of how God felt about His Firstborn:

“This is my beloved Son, in Whom I am well pleased.”

Can you imagine the gladness that enveloped the Trinity in that moment? The Spirit-Dove descending, the great voice shaking the sky, the Son letting the blessing of love and favor fall upon Him!

My heart is full as I write these words. My God knew full well what was going to happen to His Beloved when He spoke that blessing.

But for the sake of me and my firstborn and all my other children—and you and your beloveds, too—He suffered, as Father and as Sacrifice—that we might be set free to LIVE in HIM.

That He might whisper in our ears, “You are Mine! And I love you.”

Thank You, Passover Lamb.

Thank You, Father God.

Seeking

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When I lose my phone, I do it in a big way. About a year and a half ago I bought a purple cover for my phone so I wouldn’t “lose it in plain sight,” so it would stand out in my purse or on the kitchen counter.

Two days later, I lost it, never to be found. This past weekend, at my in-laws’ house in Indiana, I lost another one. Dave and I had taken our younger three for a hike in the woods. I put my phone in the pocket of my jacket before we left. We clambered up fallen trees, ran down trails, and crossed streams, and I’m guessing it fell out at some point in our wanderings. I didn’t even miss it until the following day—after it snowed five inches.

But since I discovered its loss, I have been thinking of my phone constantly. I have looked for it in my car, in my purse, under the bed at my in-laws, even in the parking lot outside the woods where we hiked—scraping snow from the blacktop. Even now, when we are back at our house, I find my eyes seeking it in places it really cannot be.

What if I looked for God like that? What if I searched for Him throughout my day? What if He were an undercurrent in my thoughts the same way my phone is right now—never far from the surface of my mind? What if my eyes were always catching glimpses of him—like I caught glimpses of purple when I was looking for my purple-clad phone last year?

‘Cause here’s the thing: unlike my phone, God wants to be found. He delights in being found. He throws parties when He is “found.” He’s the worst hide-and-seek “it” ever, like the small child who calls out from his hiding spot: “I’m over here! Come find me!”

Have you lost sight of Him? Start looking. With all your heart! Search for Him through the pages of His Book, quiet your heart to listen for His gentle whispers, read His glory declared by the skies.

Seek.

He will be found.

 

 

wallow

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Em took this picture. Love on every page.

Em took this picture. Love on every page.

When I was a kid, one of my favorite books was about a pig that had a special wallowing hole. The farmer’s wife thought the pig’s mudhole was messy, though, so she cleaned it up (vacuumed it up–I loved that picture), and the pig ran away in search of a new wallowing hole. He hitched a ride on a passing truck and ended up in the city. When he saw some fresh cement, he thought it looked like mud and dove right in. Of course, pretty soon, it hardened, and he was stuck. Being a children’s book, though, the farmer’s wife realized the error of her ways and went looking for the pig. She and the farmer broke him out of the cement and took him home to his restored mudhole.

And the pig lived happily ever after.

I thought of that book today because I was pondering the word “wallow.” In my last post, I confessed that I often wallow in guilt—sometimes shame, other times pride, insecurity, jealousy… We humans wallow in all kinds of things that end up holding us prisoner—like the pig in the cement.

But what if we wallowed in God’s love? It’s big enough. Scripture speaks of it having vast height and depth and width and length. We are told to be rooted deep and grounded in love. God’s love is called great and wonderful and intense (Eph. 2:4 and 3:17-19, Amplified). Whenever I read the verse about the height/depth/width/length, I think of the Olympic-sized swimming pool I took lessons at when I was a kid. I was little, so it seemed HUGE! I could go down, down, down till my ears popped, I could twirl in the water, I could splash and jump. I could float, buoyed by water molecules. I could dive in and not hit bottom. I could try as hard as anything to swim underwater from one end to the other on one breath and not ever succeed (that changed as I grew older).

Wallowing is essential for pigs. They can’t sweat, and the coating of mud keeps them from overheating.

God’s love is not only essential for me, too, but keeps me from “overheating as well.” When I am busy “wallowing” in His love for me, discovering greater depths and breadths of it, “exultingly glorying” in it (that’s from the Amplified version of Romans 5:11), it keeps me from getting “overheated” by stress or anxiety or troubles. It also decreases my desire to “wallow” in anything else.

I wondered if there were any other reasons pigs wallowed, so I Googled the question: “Why do pigs wallow in mud?” Of course, I got multiple answers about their lack of sweating, but some scientists suggest that they do it in part because they enjoy it. It makes them happy!

This is true for us in relation to God’s love: what is GOOD and necessary for us is also enjoyable!

So, applying this to God’s love, I could paraphrase Paul’s words in Ephesians: Dive into the mudbath of God’s love. Let it get all over you, head to toe, soothing any sores. Let it seep into your heart, filling every crack and crevice, every wounded part. Don’t clean it off. Give each other messy hugs, so that your mudbath spreads to someone else—and theirs spreads to you. Roll around in it regularly; don’t let it grow dry and hard. Better yet, stay in it!

Wallow!

I thought a pic of my mud buddies was appropriate for this post!

I thought a pic of my mud buddies was appropriate for this post!