Fiesta!

My craving for Mexican food knows no bounds. Even the walls of my own stomach can't seem to restrain it. Last year I began watching my diet and exercising more. But a few months ago, my husband and I planned a lunch date at a Mexican restaurant. I didn't eat at all that morning, wanting to save plenty of room (and calories) for all of the savory goodness that awaited me in the afternoon. 

Chips and salsa? Well, maybe just a few. How 'bout an appetizer? Why not? You only live once! Would you like guacamole and sour cream with that? It wouldn't be a burrito without it, right? Room for dessert? I couldn't possibly...but this one looks so delicious!

Let me tell you, I left that restaurant barely able to walk and certain I was gonna hurl before we got home! "Over did it a bit, didn't you?" Scott asked. I could only whimper.

The verse I read this morning took me back to that day:

Oh, satisfy us early with Your mercy,
That we may rejoice and be glad all our days! ~ Psalm 90:14

The word translated "satisfy" here is saba. It means to be filled, sated, have your desire completely met --even to excess. That's what it means here. The author is longing for God's mercy --something we all desperately need and should crave much more than some of the things we do. The psalmist knows God's mercy will satisfy, fill, meet to excess, for all our days!

The word "saba" can also mean to glut with undesired things. Like my Mexican lunch. It was good food, don't get me wrong, but it didn't fill me for the rest of my days. I haven't completely stopped eating, although it took a while before I could even think of refried beans again. It was temporary. No matter how resolutely I stuff myself with tamales or enchiladas, they will never last eternally. Compared to God's mercy, the things of this world are not worth desiring.

But what is this mercy and if we are Christians, don't we already have it? How can we be satisfied again? 

The mercy of God was perfectly, ultimately demonstrated in sending Jesus to earth as a model for us, to perfectly live the life we are called to live. He came to die as the only sufficient sacrifice for our sin, to rise again in a guarantee of His accomplishment and our inheritance, and to remain with us through His Holy Spirit. And I know that's a lot, but there's more! This mercy fills us each and every day by the presence of His Spirit. Christ's work at the cross is continuing to work today for those who walk in His forgiveness. Unlike the many antacids I took the evening after our lunch date, that worked for a bit until they didn't, Christ's death on the cross purchased God's mercy for His people eternally. It keeps on working, even for all the stupid, selfish, reckless, rebellious things we continue to do. It doesn't lose it's potency, it never goes away, and it fills us. We need to be satisfied by that. We need to meditate on the comprehensive and glorious truth of God's mercy in our lives each day. And we need to allow that overflow to pour into the lives of others we meet. God does not change. He is faithfully, consistently pouring mercy into the lives of His children day after day. We need to make that the source of our desire and our fulfillment, that we may rejoice and be glad all our days. Like a mercy fiesta!

If I Hadn't Seen It for Myself...

I don't believe my seventh grade Creative Writing teacher ever gave such an assignment, but it will stretch every literary muscle I have to describe to you the scene that unfolded the other night. So, let 'r rip, Tater Chip:

I heard the crash. Well, it wasn't really a CRASH! like I would have expected. It definitely wasn't a THUD. Maybe, more like a clatter. We had just finished dinner. Scott was taking out some trash. I was carrying Mom's water into the other room for her. "C'mon in here, Helen," I had instructed her, just as I do all throughout the day. We have taken to calling her "Helen," because her memories of being "Nana" faded a long while ago, and she only occasionally remembers she is "Mom." I figure, she has always been Helen, best to go with that. Anyhoo, I'd just set her cup down and figured I'd check the front porch for my package while waiting for Mom to be seated. As I said, I heard the clatter and assumed she'd knocked over some of my books or one of my tchotchkes. "What now?" I sighed, and casually finished locking up the front door before I headed back to the kitchen. The thought of her falling had never crossed my mind. The sound didn't even come close to being that nauseating. But there she was, collapsed on the floor behind her chair which was askew and wedged -- and I do mean wedged-- between the corner of the table and ?thin air? Seriously, I have know idea how it had become wedged or, even, why. It was a physical anomaly. Then there was Mom. She was resting on her right hip. Are you with me yet? Are you thinking, "This is the beginning of the end"? 'cause I sure was. Anyone knows a broken hip for a ninety-one year old person is a harbinger of-- well, the worst. My stomach churned. She had fallen against a buffet that runs along our kitchen wall, and was pinned in front by her chair which, as I said, was pinned by the table and nothing. Lifting her so as not do further damage to her or injure the torn labrum I've been nursing for lo these many years, appeared impossible. Assessing her injuries without getting her from that location seemed equally impossible. Just at the end of the buffet is a sort of table top with a sharp corner begging to inflict some sort of bump or laceration. I checked Mom's head. All good. She was moving her legs. Even better. I squeezed as much of my body as I could between Mom and the buffet, and placing the bend of my arm under her shoulders, I began to gently take weight from her hip. No cries or yelps --from either of us-- so it was time to get her to find some traction. She was able to get her knees in front of her and her feet planted, and slowly, carefully she rose in some demented dance as I "spotted" her to ensure she remained steady. Together we walked to the sofa, and there, my story ends.

The rest is all up to you. You see, I understand how bad this could have been. I understand the mercy we received in avoiding any injury. I understand the grace shown to us by being able to get Mom up safely and having Scott nearby if I couldn't. I get it. I was there. But if you're anything like I was for a very long time, (and, on occasion, still revert to being) you have to see it, smell it, touch it --perhaps, not exactly taste it, but you have to experience it for yourself to know just who God is and what He will do. Don't feel bad, one of Jesus' disciples, Thomas, had the same issue. But Jesus didn't chastise him; He doesn't chastise us. He isn't threatened by our unbelief, He just wants our belief. He wants our eyes to be opened and our hearts to be soft. He wants us to come to Him and be saved. And when we have those moments of doubt, those moments when we're not quite sure He is with us, He wants us to cry out, "I believe, but help my unbelief!" (Mark 9:24). 

And He'll show you things you might never believe otherwise!