Whom Are We Really Offending?

Today is Halloween or more specifically, All Hallows Eve, the day before the Christian feast day dedicated to the celebration of heaven being the final destination for all who claim Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior. Just as many begin their official celebration of Christmas on December 24, or Christmas Eve, All Hallows Eve traditionally was the “kick-off party” to the celebration of “All Saints Day.”

One year our church hosted a children’s party that focused on the celebration of those of us who looked forward to heaven – those of us still here on earth fighting in the trenches of spiritual warfare. No spooky or gory costumes were permitted. Children were to dress in costumes representing Believers who had died in Christ and were now triumphantly in heaven. The party looked a lot like a gathering of “The Village People” with many tinkers, tailors, and Indian Chiefs.

But this year, a school district in Colorado sent letters home to parents stating that children’s Halloween party costumes criteria no longer allowed children to dress up as cowboys or Indians, nor wear any other attire which the school might find offensive, particularly any outfit that might offend any ethnic group. (No more gypsies, geishas, flamenco dancers, or Mexican freedom fighters, like Zorro, allowed either!) Witches, ghouls, vampires, goblins and zombies are permitted.

The American culture is steeped in death and the occult. Tune into prime time television on any night and take note of the parade of undead, witches, and vampires. Even commercials have zombies trying to buy cell phones! The school’s permission of gory, occultic and demonic costumes shouldn’t offend anyone, right? And many Christians, lulled into the fog of political correctness, allow their offspring to dress up as a zombie, witch, or vampire and think nothing of it, because the costumes are not offending any particular ethnic group.

Whom are we really offending? We are so caught up with political correctness, that we completely miss the offense we are committing toward our God and Creator. His love letter to us, the Holy Bible, warns us to have nothing to do with the occult and to avoid every appearance of evil. Satan celebrates death, while Jesus came that we might enjoy abundant life.

Christians, Jesus said, “If you love me, you will obey my commandments.” Don’t be changed by the culture we live in, but transform the culture around you by letting the light of Christ-in-you shine and dispel the darkness, and battle on!

The Miracle Mutt

Miracle Mutt Give thanks to the LORD for he is good; His love endures forever. Psalm 107:1

My daughter’s little dog is a Miracle Mutt. He managed to injure himself last week in a duel to the death with a bathroom rug. The evil rug was destroyed, but it nearly took him with it. There were no witnesses to this battle; he was discovered lying listlessly on the floor with the rug in shreds around him. His left hind leg was useless and he trembled in horrible pain, refusing food and water.

The vet suspected a blown disc was the cause, but nothing was revealed by x-rays. A blood scan revealed nothing abnormal. Yet, the little guy was in intense pain. Even pain meds didn’t seem to eradicate his suffering. More x-rays and additional vet visits failed to reveal the cause of his problems. Stumped, the Dr. suggested a neurosurgeon, but warned that the tests alone would cost thousands of dollars.

One thing we knew, the poor dog wouldn’t last long in his current condition. It looked very grim. He would only drink from a syringe as he lay quivering from the pain. At one point he lost bladder control and couldn’t even stand. She hand fed him special foods and wept.

My daughter was heartbroken, and we all cried together at the thought of euthanizing her beloved pet. Without the funds to cover such a catastrophic event, she would have him put out of his suffering if he failed to improve over the weekend.

We prayed. We posted on Facebook and friends and family prayed. She teaches Sunday School and the children in her class prayed.

Deciding that his final day would be as good as she could make it, they went to his favorite place and spent several hours at the ocean as she prayed and cried. And God was gracious and merciful.

On Monday, the dog stood up and limped around her living room. He began putting the injured foot down to the ground and began to void his bladder and bowels without assistance. He wants to play! He is so perky that she worries that he may reinjure himself.

The vet was not sure he would last through the weekend, but we are celebrating God’s mercy. Whatever the cause of his injury, we believe that God is in the process of miraculously healing my daughter’s little dog. We are humbled and grateful beyond words, praising our God and King for his great love.

Psalm 116: I love the LORD for he heard my voice; he heard my cry for mercy…The LORD is gracious and righteous. our God is full of compassion.

Cat Tales

We spend our summers in a rural area, surrounded by dairy farms and fields of corn. Our ten acres is its own little wild-life sanctuary, populated by deer, pheasants, rabbits, and feral cats.

We sometimes stumble upon nests of feral kittens tucked away in the flower bed or woodshed They are wild little creatures. Perhaps their ancestors were once tame, ending up in this life by abandonment by their owners, or getting lost by their own wandering, these offspring have long forgotten how to be loved. They run when they see a human, exist by their own wits, and are frequently meals for the coyote and hawk population. Life is short and difficult in the wild. These feral cats will “visit” my tame cats through the window of my house, and hiss and spit at them, as if challenging them to fight.

Our first Maine Coon cat was rescued from this life. Riley was nearly starving when he found us, assumingly abandoned on our lonely dirt road. The vet gave him a clean bill of health and we adopted the cat into our home. He immediately bonded with me and was always at my side like a faithful dog. It was almost as if he remembered his frightening life in the wild and gratefully appreciated his redemption.

After Riley’s death we acquired another Maine Coon cat, this time from a breeder. Buster has always been pampered, loved and cared for. He has never experienced hardship and seems to take his care for granted and that his needs will always be met. He has been with us a number of years and is only just begun to show signs of bonding with me.

The state of these cats remind me of people and their relationship to Jesus Christ.

The feral cats make me think of people who are lost. Perhaps their ancestors knew the Lord, but influences of culture or bad choices drove them away from God. Their children and grandchildren have lived by their wits and without the knowledge of Jesus Christ. And, like the cats who hiss through the windows of my house, they often try to pick fights with those who follow Jesus.

Riley, my rescued cat, puts me in mind of people who come out of the wild, who make a conscious decision to follow Jesus and are infinitely grateful for being rescued. They remember their life before Christ and never want to go back to living without Him. They are faithful.

Buster makes me think of people who have been raised in a Christian heritage. They have grown up surrounded by a Christian culture and influence through their parents and grandparents. Perhaps they have always attended Christian schools and been raised in a church environment. They have never known a life without Christian influence. They are at risk of assuming that because their family is Christian, they are as well, and this is a dangerous assumption. God has children, but not grandchildren. Everyone must make their own decision to follow Christ.

What kind of a cat are you? Do you need to come out of the wild and be rescued? Have you been adopted into God’s family? The cry for salvation is a prayer that God always hears and answers.

Doing the Splits

We moved a lot during my husband’s career. He was utilized as a plant launch specialist and when his company wanted to start up a new factory, he was THE guy for the job. During the ten years of my children’s’ education, we moved seven times, living in five different states.

After one relocates a few times, the brain tends to switch to auto pilot. There is a mental check list of notifications, closet cleaning, and good-byes. We generally had a two week window to wrap up life in one location before moving to another. During those two weeks, we would pack up our computer, schoolbooks, and a survival wardrobe and move into a furnished apartment while house-hunting in our new location.

Notification of transfer usually came mid-December; January would find us in a new apartment, and we generally closed and moved in to our new house in early May. That left about 4 months of “doing the splits”- living with a minimum amount of stuff, away from those things that make our day-to-day life more enjoyable, easier, and fun. Inevitably, I would think I had something essential with me, would tear the apartment apart looking for it, only to conclude it must be a the other house.

I have been in Florida since January and did “the splits” this morning! I woke up with my mind made up on what I want to wear today. (Doesn’t everyone do that, or is it just a “girl-thing?” ) The object of my search is a print cotton cardigan. It has a brown and tan and orange pattern and would go great with the brown Capri’s, orange belt, and white polo that I am wearing to work today.

I tore apart all of the storage bins under my bed, my limited closet space, and even dug through the bins in the back of my van. I am convinced it is still at home in my closet.

Not having the sweater is a minor frustration. It is just a reminder that I am “doing the splits.” My life is currently split between Michigan and Florida, and will remain in transition until God opens up a firm direction for our future.

As a Christian, I should be used to “doing the splits.” I live in this world, but am not of this world. My real home is in heaven; I am just a sojourner on this earth. Someday, I will finally get to go home.

Here, in the present, living between Michigan and Florida, I am searching for my sweater.  I know that when I go back to my home in Michigan and will retreive it.  But, during our time here on earth, we spend our lives in a state of searching – searching for that illusive happiness and peace. 

The missing ingredient in life is Jesus Christ, and many of us spend our entire life searching for true happiness in all of the wrong places. It cannot be found in parties, drugs, or possessions.  There is a peace and joy in Jesus Christ that our world here cannot give.  Behind all of our searching, is Jesus.  He is what our broken, empty hearts are ultimately searching for.    He is waiting for all who seek Him.  Call out to Jesus and find that true peace.