God and enemies

This week God is showing me something new about enemies.  First, He gets to decide who they are; and second, He chooses to bring Himself glory through them.

There have been, and continue to be, times in my life when I simply can’t believe that someone, or some organization, is treating me a certain way.  Yet very rarely do I think to myself, “Well, I guess that person/organization is my enemy.”  More often I will think, “What more could I be doing to get that person/organization to like me?”  Or: “How could I facilitate this situation with them in such a way that will bring about a reasonable and palatable result for both of us?  There must be something God will help me do to turn this nasty thing around.  Or perhaps my prayers are not yet adequate for this difficult situation?”

This thinking comes from a place of believing that God can work anything out for good.  Yet, it also can come from an arrogant (sinful) place of thinking I also know how He should do it.  You see, my way doesn’t require evil to be crushed; it requires evil to be changed into good.  It's the feel-good ending where everyone wins, and no one or thing needs to be defeated.  (It certainly doesn't require a cross, or my Savior's agony and pain on that cross...)

This week, I’m seeing this as defective thinking on my part.  It became clear to me when I read in Exodus 14, in two different places, that God was the one who was planning to harden Pharaoh’s heart - not Pharaoh himself.  And this would cause Pharaoh (and his army) to chase after Moses and the Israelites.  Now if I had been Moses, I would have been inclined to think my prayerful, carefully executed discussion with Pharaoh had failed when Pharaoh's heart became hard.  That I had not said enough of the right thing in an effective enough way…or that maybe I didn’t pray enough before I requested that Pharaoh once and for all let me and my people go.  Wouldn't God surely want Pharaoh to become a believer and send the Israelites out with a prayer service that the reformed king would lead?

Until now, I had never really let this truth sink into my mind and heart:  God wanted Pharaoh’s heart to be hard; he wanted him to chase after the Israelites and scare them half to death.  And why?  To display His glory and show people that He’s the Lord!

“I have planned this to display my great glory through Pharaoh and his whole army.  After this the Egyptians will know that I am the Lord!”  (Ex. 14:4 NLT)

God, being God, gets to pick His enemies (which, as His children, become our enemies, and vice versa) and He chooses to harden their hearts, even when it might make things very difficult for us for awhile.  But then, oh then - He stops them cold, and in doing so, displays His great glory.

Our tactics may seem more reasonable to us, and we are called to be peacemakers in this world, so I don’t even think our collaboration efforts are usually misguided, and often He works through them to bring resolution.  I’ve just come to realize that I need to acknowledge, respect and praise Him for His right to declare and defeat my enemies in His way – for His great glory...and who doubts - for the benefit of His grateful daughter.

Faith's unchanging dad

This Friday will be the ninth anniversary of the day my dad, Harold Revne, passed to the other side of eternity; so it seems like a really appropriate week for this guest post about a special dad, from one of my BFFs: Faith Tasker. She and I have been great friends since we were two years old. She spoke this tribute about her dad on Father’s Day, in the church he served as pastor of, for many years. It’s more than just stories about her earthly father, however...

(Oh, and yes, the Ann in the story is Yours Truly. And I still don’t like to touch frogs!)

My Dad’s name is David Peterson. Dad was a Wesleyan Pastor for 50 years in the Wisconsin District including over 21 years as pastor of this church (Wesleyan Church in Spooner, WI), and he was “Dad” to three kids: two boys and one girl. It’s a difficult task to select the stories to share with you, as there are so many throughout a lifetime, but I think of a time when I was 12 or 13 years old.

My parents used to let me practice driving in the church parking lot and I would practice pulling into all the stalls between the lines. When I was done one day I headed over to the parsonage to watch Hogan’s Heroes and later Dad came over from his office at the church. Very calmly, without raising his voice he said, “Faith, you need to remember to put the car in park when you get out.” In those days you could turn a car off and take the keys out without putting it in park. The car had rolled across the parking lot, ran into the cement bumper at the edge, pushed the bumper OFF the lot and then amazingly stopped just before going all the way over the steep drop off into the gully below. Dad was consummately patient with me. A trait of the Heavenly Father.

Earlier, when I was 10 or 11, my best friend, Ann, had come to visit me from Eau Claire for a week. The County Fair was there at that time and we wanted to earn some extra money to spend on rides. We got the brilliant idea that if we could catch frogs, there would be lots of people who would love to buy them to use for fishing bait. Of course we were afraid to touch frogs, so we enlisted Dad to catch them all. We ventured down into the swamp right behind the church. Dad got down on his knee in his overalls in that swamp and had an amazing way of moving his hand in circles: getting smaller and smaller to mesmerize the frog, and then he would grab it and put it in our bucket.

We painted a sign that said “FROGS FOR SALE” and stuck it in the ground right next to Hwy 70 and stood waiting for the masses to appear in dire need of frogs. To our surprise, no one stopped. Finally my oldest brother’s best friend and wife showed up and gladly bought all our frogs. We couldn’t believe our luck! Only years later did I learn that my dad had asked John to buy the frogs and even gave him the money to do so! Just as our Father in Heaven, Dad longed to fulfill my dreams and bring delight and pleasure to my heart.

Many years later, came a time that I was willful and made some bad decisions. The kind of decisions that affect you for the rest of your life… I broke my parent’s hearts and the heart of God. I know this was so difficult for Dad, but I remember what he said to me. He assured me of his love forever, and said that although this path was not the perfect will of God – “Plan A” if you will – there was now “Plan B” and God was not done with my life and would not throw me away because I had done wrong. God still had a purpose for me and could do great things in and through me. Dad did not give me the judgment and punishment I deserved, but rather showed me unconditional love, just like God does.

Dad steadfastly extended patience to me. He did his best to fulfill dreams, hopes and desires in all his children. And he showed mercy and love in the face of great disappointment. Put all of these traits together in the consistent way that Dad lived, and I would say the one that most reminds me of God is that Dad was unchanging.

James 1:17 (ESV) says: “Every good gift and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of Lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.”

When I reach heaven I want to see my Savior, Jesus, first of all, but then I want to run to find my earthly dad. Love you, Dad! --Faith

Thank you, Faith, for your friendship, and for sharing these fun, and inspiring, memories of your dear dad.

I'm a witness

It seems incredibly close-minded, even arrogant, to believe that there is truth and that I know what it is. People – and I’m one of those people – get furious with such philosophical arrogance, and can hardly believe that individuals dare to speak of their own opinionated knowledge so highly. Yet, when it comes to knowing and believing in one true God, I willingly take such a stand, myself. And not because I think I’m so great (I really don’t), but because of who I am through Jesus.

Honestly, this has not been easy for me to reconcile... As I said, on the one hand, I am a person who quite easily disrespects people who take these very “I know the truth, and the truth is what I believe” stances. These stands are often of a political nature, and usually polarize. I much prefer collaboration, often believing the most workable – and long-term, the most palatable – answer is somewhere in the middle. (And not that one should alter what they believe is the absolute best, but one should be willing to work toward reasonable compromises, recognizing there are respectful views, and people, on most sides of most issues.)

Yet, if you asked me if there is one true God and not “many gods, all of whom are likely worthy belief choices” I would answer, “No, I believe there is one, true God, and this is the God I know and trust.” Now, granted, I would say it kindly, not at all disrespecting another’s free choice to disagree, and to worship any god she or he chooses. Nevertheless, I believe I have the truth in this matter, and with good reason…

What I call my “good reason,” others may say is “completely circumstantial.” And, in a way, they would be absolutely right. Yet, that’s exactly what I implore is good reason to investigate my God as the true God: the circumstance of who He is and what He has done in my life. His influence in me cannot be denied, or argued with, if you get to know me, and see what that influence has been.

Should we not compare gods by the lives of their true believers? Not by simply looking at those who attend services, or visit temples or go through rituals, but the actual lives – before and after – of those who place their trust in these gods. Not, “Are they perfect?” (Who is?) But, “What comes out of their hearts?” And, “Is the power of their God’s spirit in their daily lives?”

I’m a witness to the truth that it is possible to have a current, active relationship with God, through Jesus Christ. And that witness, flawed and imperfect as it is, is still a powerful reason to believe. This not because of who I am...or what I have done...because frankly, on my own – without His Spirit working in me – my life takes a disgusting turn. But when I allow Him to reign in me, He does, and my life becomes a convincing witness of the reason to believe.

Grandma's remarkable story

Tonight, my 89-year-young mom and I had dinner together at my house. As we finished our meal of stuffed French toast and coffee, I pulled out a bunch of old notebooks and documents and we started poring over them together. I’ll share more from these documents in the days and weeks ahead, but I want to begin with the one that brought tears of pride and affection for my dad's mother - my grandma.

It’s written by my grandpa, Berge Revne, about my grandma, Herborg Revne, sometime after her death in 1960. And it confirms what I felt deeply as I stood at her grave in Kaele, Cameroon last year: she loved her Savior very much.

My Wife (by Berge Revne)
She was the first white woman to enter and to reside in North Cameroon and in the Colony of Chad.

She was the first white woman to speak Fulfulde in that whole region of Central Africa.

She was the first woman to bring the Gospel to the women of North Cameroon and Chad.

She was the first mother with her two-month old white baby to travel up the Benue River to Garoua in an African dugout canoe, and from there, ten days over land on horseback or walking.

She was the first woman to plant flowers and fruit trees on eight new mission stations which we were privileged to begin the work on, and to build the first huts or houses.

She was the first woman to witness to the women and children in these places.

In short, most of her missionary career was a “first” – in other words a “pioneer” and yet she never made mention of what she had accomplished. The love for the work and joy in doing it urged her to continue until her days were finished.

If this isn't an example of stepping out of one's comfort zone for Christ, I don't know what is. This woman made an investment in people which continues to this day and into eternity... Fifty years following her death, I observed fruits of her labor in Cameroon last year. And I know God is using her remarkable story to inspire me to write a better, God-honoring, story with my life.

Grandma Herborg died before I could speak the word Grandma to her. If she only knew how humbled and honored I am to call her My Grandma...

The ugly maple

Some people compare the seasons in nature to four seasons of a life. When you’re very young, it’s the spring of your life; when you are old it’s the winter; and summer and fall are in between. Instead, I like to think we go through many seasonal cycles in life – not just one. And right now I think I’m in an early spring...

This realization came this afternoon when I was out on the front deck, drinking in the sun’s warmth and vitamin D. It’s an unbelievably balmy Wisconsin day today – 80 degrees Fahrenheit – and spring doesn’t officially begin until Tuesday! As I leaned my head on the back of the wicker chair and looked up at the sky through the branches of the yard's lone maple tree, I noticed something: the tree looked ugly.

Okay, so maybe trees don’t have emotions, but if this tree did, I think it would be feeling sad right now, at least concerning how it looked. Its branches don’t show any signs of green. Rather, they are an ugly gray-brown color. And at the ends of the twigs that shoot out from the branches, are roundish, thorny-looking, dark gray, berry-shaped blobs – that are far from pretty, or handsome. They aren’t even the slightest bit cute. So it’s difficult to believe that beautiful green leaves will one day soon emerge from them. Except I know it’s true because I have seen it happen year after year...

Today I wanted to say to the tree, “Hang on there old maple. In a few weeks you’re going to be looking quite lovely. You know those ugly, itchy, prickly things that are annoying your twigs right now? Well, hidden inside are lovely green leaves. You’re going to be beautiful!”

I then noticed the state of the rest of my surroundings... The grass isn’t pretty right now, either. It’s still clumped down from winter’s snows, and is wearing a sprinkling of dead leaves – ugly remnants of autumn’s long-past glory. The trees in other yards are all looking gray-brown and lifeless, too. There are no beautiful flowers in planters, and the human houses and streets look neglected from winter’s cold, dark, season. Yet, it’s next to impossible to miss the incredible hope that is in the air right now. I was anything but depressed as I soaked in the sunshine and let the warm breezes whisk my cares away.

Personally, I’m identifying with the ugly parts of spring. I’m not seeing any green growth in my life today. There’s no visible, lush, shade-providing, inspiring evidence of what’s flowing through my veins. There are no apparent signs that the ugly blobs of whatever is trying to ooze from God’s work inside of me is about to emerge green and beautiful. I do hope and trust this will happen - with all of my heart...but not because I’m making something beautiful. (I can’t even control results from my very best intentions!) I can trust this only because He is making something beautiful. His glory must burst forth. The ugly tree will soon be gloriously green.

Mind vs. heart

For the past few months I’ve had an unresolved battle going on in my mind…or is it my heart? The conflict, which I haven’t quite resolved yet, is over which rules: our mind or our heart? Does our mind (which I describe as our thoughts and knowledge) direct our heart (which I describe as our feelings and passion) or does our heart direct our mind? Or is it some combination of both? And why do I seem to need to know, anyway?

As one who can over think anything, even over-thinking, I’ve got a desire to, once and for all, defend, or else reduce my analytical practice. So that answers the last question... But it wasn’t until something I heard on American Idol recently, that I finally devoted some time and conversation with a friend to begin to truly sort the first question out. More than one Idol talent contestant this season has received feedback from judges that he or she needs to “stop thinking” when they are performing, and to instead, apparently, “sing from the heart.” “This was not your best performance,” one judge said, and another followed with, “You were thinking too much…you’ve got the talent…just sing!”

I found this somewhat frightening to hear... I’ve dabbled in music my whole life, so I totally agree that mechanical perfection alone is not perfection. If music is to be great, emotion must be involved. But what about outside of the music realm? I mean, I definitely don’t want sterile, even if technically perfect, results in life. (And my results to date aren't technically perfect, anyway...) I don’t want mechanical, or strained, or boring. I do want passion, and glory to God. I do want to move people...to be a positive influence. Could I be over-thinking things and sabotaging the God-pleasing results I’m seeking to accomplish?

Well, all this thinking led me to a scary question... Is it time to trust my heart more? To act, create, and simply and generally be more out of feeling and passion? If the Spirit of Jesus is in me, and by the grace of God, He is, can I simply be, without so much striving, worrying, analyzing, and…thinking?

So, honestly, I do feel a need to think about this some more. Yet my heart is telling me I may be on to something. And I have to say it feels good...

Armor of God

I've found there's only one way to approach each day as a follower Christ... It’s to get up every morning and put on the armor of God. I visibly go through the motions, when I remember, which may seem childlike and silly, but I’m a visual person, so it helps me think about the words I’m saying and to have a little fun with it too.

When Abby was visiting a month ago I taught it to her one morning. We started by putting on the belt of truth. (I get dressed in the order I read in Ephesians 6:14-17.) Her eyes immediately lit up at this need to use our imaginations. I knew she’d love this. Then we draped ourselves from head to toe in God’s righteousness, ending that sweep of our hands flowing in the air from head to ankle, inches from our body, by putting on shoes of peace. Immediately and abruptly we then stood tall, and boldly pushed our left arms straight out from our bodies with our hands held in high-five position for the shield of faith. We finished with our hands making an upside-down “V” for the helmet of salvation, then exuberantly raised our right arms high in the air with our fingers pointing, as we yelled, “and the sword of the Spirit!”

It was fun. We did it a couple of times together that morning so she could learn it, and then went on our way... Well, a couple of weekends later she was back at my house, with her mom and brothers this time. I came downstairs after showering and dressing and saw that she and Sam were engrossed in a Clifford video. Now they, like most kids I know (including my sons, years ago), get so engrossed in videos that it practically takes an act of God to bring them out of the fantasy and back to reality. Well, I guess it likely was an act of God this day because when I walked into the room, Abby turned away from the TV, smiled, tilted her head knowingly and said, “Grandma, did you remember to put on the armor of God?” I was shocked and speechless for a second or two. Not only had she remembered, but she broke out of Clifford’s exciting story to ask me if I remembered! And she caught me. I had forgotten.

I love children. They are so genuine and eager, and not too little or too big to be awesome followers of Jesus.

This blog features stories about God’s faithfulness through generations. It began with stories of my Grandpa and Grandma Revne as they pioneered to northeast Cameroon to tell people about Jesus and His love and plan for them. And while they were serving God far away, one day a granddaughter was born and I came into this world. And even though I hardly knew my grandparents while they walked this earth, I feel I know them so well now. Yet the story continues... Now I’m the adult. Not in Africa (right now, anyway), yet walking with my Lord through this life. And now there's another granddaughter. This time it's Abby, and there are six more dear young children. And with all of this life come stories, and stories, and stories...

I continue to get up each day and, when I remember, visibly put on the armor of God. I’ve found it’s the best way to walk through these days. It begins with the belt of truth…