Vitamin Host

I have a home - four walls, a stove.
That folks find without fail.
It's not as clean as some I've seen. 
But still, they blaze a trail.
From far and near they trickle here
Some days they simply flood.
Knock knock - surprise! - I close my eyes
And wish for extra food.
I can't prepare. I'm unaware
Of who might happen by.
They text. They call. I love them all
So much I just might cry.
I sigh and try to serve them well
Despite my selfish heart.
But hosting wears my kindness thin
And picks my peace apart.
At last, I rest, the house a mess,
And eye my sticky floor.
I would treasure silence less
If it happened more.
But this routine of listen, love,
Of stillness, service, sleep
Provides me joy, paints pictures of
How Jesus welcomes me.
Against all odds, unlovely, flawed
I'm always ushered in.
His grace, my hope. His heart, the home
That teaches mine to give.

Vitamin Ministry

The last chapter of Acts describes what appears to be the descent of Paul's magnificent ministry. After traveling his world for years, suddenly, this man found himself housebound, in Rome, under the watchful eye of his own personal guard.

I imagine him chafing at the monotony of a single house, a single city, a single view from a single window ... for months. I imagine him dreaming of the sea, the harbor, the long, twisting trails of his past. Perhaps he lay awake at night, remembering the churches he planted, praying for the people he might never see again.

Perhaps, just like me, he wondered why God would ground him just when he felt so on fire. What had he done? And what could he do now? Like me, maybe Paul felt punished, forgotten, unneeded, unused.

Maybe. But I doubt it. All this speculation steps on the toes of what God's word clearly states. Long before he reached Rome, Paul knew God intended him to reach the Gentiles there. He pressed on toward this goal, cheerfully enduring shipwreck, stranding, and several public trials in the process. And while he pursued opportunities to preach at until the last minute, Paul seems to have settled in nicely to the routine of house arrest in his old Roman world.

Paul, after all, was perfectly poised to proselytize Rome. Being a Jew, yet possessing a Roman citizenship, Paul represented God's ideal messenger to this place. After his years of itinerant work, and with increased Jewish hostility towards the message of Christ, God settled Paul safely in his hometown and limited his scope to the safe-guarded scope of his own home. Undoubtedly, this provided a more intimate form of ministry than before. No longer addressing crowds, Paul faced however many people his house could hold. No longer free to travel, he devoted more time to writing.

Thus, rather than derailing the ministry of this man, God set His sovereignty upon it. I want you to sit, I can almost hear Him say as Paul paced his narrow confines. I want you to settle. Invest. Open your home. I picture God bringing just the right people, each day, to stop by, while Paul waited, and watched, in wonder.

Yes, Paul kept his commission from Christ. But rather than traveling to reach out to others, God helped his target group reach out to him. It must have been humbling to learn just how effective ministry could be, when Paul could do nothing but sit. No more striving, planning, walking, mapping, and praying about where to go. Instead, a calm reliance on his Savior to send needy souls to his home.

"For the next two years," writes the author of Acts, "Paul lived in Rome at his own expense. He welcomed all who visited him, boldly proclaiming the Kingdom of God and teaching about the Lord Jesus Christ. And no one tried to stop him." (Acts 28:30-31)

Derailed ministry? Not a chance. These words paint a portrait a man on God's mission, whether housebound or free. Paul's persistence - and patient submission - inspire my own passion to accept God's perfect plan, regardless of what He might ask. Wherever God asks me to stay. Whenever He asks me to go. I'll obey, settling in gladly to a plan that provides His best for both me and the people I so long to serve.

Yes, ministry has a meaning, to be sure. But Paul's life encourages me to broaden that meaning to include everything from a sitting in a prison cell to speaking before crowds and kings. Ministry means only one thing: Spreading God's glory in precisely the way He commands, day by day. Paul's life provides a multifaceted example of this surrendered service. I pray that mine will, as well.

Vitamin Receive

"Receive your sight" - Acts 9:18

Commanded to receive,

I open my hands, and

into them pours a blessing

This simple equation

tells me, every time, I

cannot forget who I am.

"Receiver" - my name - it

rings out with no shame. Lame,

I limp toward my healing.

Covered in filth, still I

move forward,  uphill, 'til

toiling, I pass up my pride.

At last I am near the

great Giver. Here, I lie

finally spent, at His mercy.

            He lifts me up, gently

            Looks at me, intently.

            Asks me to hold out my hands.

My pride long forgotten

I obey. Tears fall, all

noticed by Him who now kneels.

He opens his own hands

Pierced, hard-working hands - and

Lets His life-gift swiftly flow.

His fingers - so warm - give

healing and hope; pour forth

love to my soul like a sea

I'll never leave Him. I'm

glad to receive Him: Gift

Who make all other gifts pale.

Vitamin Best

The day slides by -

Sun, shadow, shine

A motley mix of shades.

Blue, yellow, green

Glance off my screen.

Outside, sweet Springtime plays.

The garden calls

As daylight falls

And morning turns to dusk

I've sat. I've read

I shake my head.

I'm dressed - but only just.

My brain cells swim

My vision dims.

"I should have"'s fill my mind.

Outside this home

So many groan

With pain - am I so blind?

And yet, today

I heard God say

In words straight to my soul

"My best, for you,

Lies in this room:

Come, let me make you full."

Full of

rest,

Full of peace.

Next day you'll be renewed.

Smile again!

Oh child, dear friend,

My Best is always good.

Vitamin Save

"For God did not send his son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through him might be saved." John 3

I just finished reading Frank Perretti's book, The Oath. In it, Peretti compares sin to a dragon who "marks" the people he owns by creating a wound over their hearts that oozes black slime. This mark gives the dragon the right to consume them. 

The people, at first, notice these wounds. They fear their impending doom. But towards the end of each person's life, he or she sinply ceases to care. People begin living as if they have no wound. Sinning and hurting others with reckless abandon. Marching towards their own death in a sickening display of denial. 

This idea aptly illustrates the words of Jesus to Nicodemus in John 3. In this conversation, Jesus says that the world already stands condemned, and that Jesus came to do something much different than condemn humanity, again. He came to save.

See, just like the people in Perretti's story, every one of us has been marked with sin's wound. This gives us a fatal connection with our enemy, sometimes called the Dragon in the Bible. Eventually, he will consume us. We can pretend we're immune. We can live as we please. But truth will claim us in the end. 

When Jesus came to earth, He knew our soiled, sin-sickened state. Rather than sealing that existing condemnation in stone, He came to provide an escape. A substitute. Someone who could pay the penalty that our festering wounds would demand.

It is a beautiful picture, yea? A sinless Lamb, facing down a bloodthirsty dragon, armed with nothing but His own death-damning Love

This love runs so deep that even if I never admit I'm oozing sin's slime, Jesus still offers His gift - His substitutionary blood - to me all the same. My response makes no difference: His love -- and my condemnation, without accepting it -- will not change. 

So what will I choose to embrace? The dragon, his "freedom," his mark? It's already mine, actually. As a child of this world, I took my first breath with that slime-seeping wound, and without Christ,  I'll carry it til I die. No choice is a choice. I can deny it, but nothing can alter the truth. 

Only the Lamb and His ridiculous plan,  His chosen cross and His arms spread out wide, offers any hope for my condition. My state can be changed, but I must admit that I'm dying in order to take receive the Lamb's life. This means letting go of my pride, seeing my rights crucified, and embracing God's world-changing gift.

The dragon? The Cross? My way? Or the Lamb's? Jesus came to save me, if I will but accept Him. Can I admit that I need Him, and live?

Can you?

Vitamin Moment

The cat, a mild-mannered orange tabby,stretches luxuriantly on my queen-sized bed. She's picked the exact center, near two socks awaiting their owner. From here, she blinks, kneads one paw, and rolls over with obvious delight to expose her ample, tawny-furred belly.

Oh, Rosie.

I can't help but smile as I scoop her up, her body a friendly, limp weight in my arms, and head for the front door. Her dreamy demeanor belies an uncanny ability to locate and breach any unguarded entries to our home.

It was good while it lasted, I think as I deposit her, surprised, back outside. But I'm sure you'll be back again, soon. Still groggy from her secret snooze, Rosie stumbles as she lands on the front porch, then rights herself and glances back. But there's s not a hint of animosity in those expressive, green eyes. No matter the millions of times we repeat this routine, she seems incapable of holding a grudge.

Mentally, I tip my hat. That's the spirit, I think as I start the long Wednesday plow that eventually culminates in my bedtime. Savor the sweet things while you have them.

On a walk with a friend, later on, I catch myself following Rosie's feline lead. The lay of a field, freshly-plowed. A covey of cows bedded down the road. Trees in bloom. Tiny plants. Each observation garners more appreciation that I would normally feel, and by the end of our walk, my sludgy weekday spirit has risen to one of gratitude, one of joy.

"Moments have been on my mind," my walking partner mentions as we wind down our stroll. She's contemplating a potential move, dabbling in planting a garden, striving to live out a peace that flies in the face of a thousand unknowns. "This is the life that we have, here, right now. This is what we should enjoy."

I nod, she smiles, and we both laugh. Enjoying life's moments sounds easy ... until you try. But I sense, as we pick up the pace and near our walk's end, we're both willing work for it. The payoff may not look like Rosie's slow stretch on her stolen bed. But it'll be wonderful, all the same.

More peace? Perhaps. More joy. Without a doubt. And hopefully, with a little careful maneuvering, several catnaps to savor, as well.

Vitamin Bask

Walking into a south-facing room, I spot a small patch of sun in my home, splayed on the floor like a fat, sleeping cat. The vision sends an unexpected flutter all the way to my stomach, a flutter I can only compare with the jolt one feels upon sighting one's secret crush in a crowd.

Warmth! I adore you! Sweet light. Give me joy.

Drawn to this bewitching delight, I sink down in its checkered comfort with a sigh. At once, warmth washes over my extremities, flooding me with a sense of well-being I've lacked since the desolate days of winter began. I bask like a lizard, all duties forgotten in these first ecstatic moments of spring sun. I am a worshiper undone, thanking my King for this precious window of light.

And yet ... He grants me these windows every day. Love. Friendship. Food. Shelter. The smile of one of my kids. Without seeming to show special favors, He most certainly does.Those things that draw me to Him litter my path like wildflowers, and I pick them all with abandon, with pure joy. God, help me to bask, help me to worship, with each precious gift that You give.