In Which I Tackle The Hedges & The House...

A few years ago, on a weekend when my family was out of town, my Dad surprised us with an astonishing gift. He drove down from Lexington, truck bed full of stones and rocks and landscaping cloth. Unbeknownst to us, he created lovely gardens stemming out from our patio. Flat, rectangular shaped stones form a serpentine border that leads from the back corner edge of the house to one edge of the patio, and then from the opposite edge of the patio to the other corresponding edge of the house. A layer of landscape cloth slows the growth of grass and weeds. Different colored rocks – lava rock, pebbles, white quartz-y gravel, round black stones, creek rock – adorn the gardens in patterns. The garden is pieced together rather like a stained glass window, but in a loose mosaic of color and texture. And it is stunning. The work of a master landscape designer.
What makes this particular garden extra special, in a “perfect for me” kind of way, is the fact I cannot possibly destroy the contents. Unfortunately, I did not inherit my father’s green thumb. To his dismay and bewilderment, I have more of a “black thumb of death” when it comes to plants. (Let’s just say, if I had a dime for every time someone whispered under their breath: “But I didn’t even think it was POSSIBLE to kill – insert name of plant said person is staring at in disbelief, shriveled and brown and crispy” then I would be a wealthy woman).
While the botanical gardens surrounding my parents’ house have been aptly described as ‘The Eighth Wonder of The World’, plants under my care wither and die. Nevertheless, the rock garden was particularly touching as the rocks are indestructible. And therefore, completely safe in the hands of a black thumb gardener, like myself. Daddy created the masterpiece, and entrusted me with maintenance. I can do that.
You see, despite the landscape cloth, there are indefatigable (which is really the only appropriate description…and a word I love to say three times fast) weeds, grasses and ground covers that take root -on top of the cloth- and weave among the stones. In the blink of an eye, the mosaic masterpiece is hidden by unruly leaves and vines.
Today was a self-proclaimed “rock garden maintenance” day. I donned my dollar store gloves, a hand-held three pronged rake thing-y (I believe that’s the technical agricultural term), grabbed a thermos of water and headed out to the jungle. The fact that it was a billion degrees outside just prodded me to increase my weeding efficiency.
I pulled weeds, both full grown and merely sprouting. I tackled ants, several types of beetles, a fledgling yellow jacket’s nest (Ewwwwwwww…), spiders of several sizes. I dug under stones to make sure roots were destroyed. I sweated, and grunted, and gripped, and pushed until the metal end of my three pronged rake-y thing broke in two. (I’m telling you, INDEFATIGABLE weeds…) I believe I frightened my daughters when I burst through the door and collapsed into a chair while sweat gathered in a pool at my feet. “W…a…t…e…r,” I gasped and held out my empty thermos. The Bug and the Pea flew to the rescue and then followed me outside to help. They gathered up the piles of leaves, grasses, weeds, and bound them up in giant garbage bags.
Next I tackled the hedges. Quite literally. Me, garden gloves, electric hedge clippers. In front of our porch is a small garden, a few holly bushes, a lilac bush, an evergreen, some burning bushes, fountains of monkey grass. (“Mama,” asks the Bug, “Is it OK if I cut back these monkeys?”) Quite recently this little plot of space beside the sidewalk up to our porch steps has morphed into a bit of a jungle. (Fine, fine, it’s been that way for awhile, there’s no ‘quite recently’ about it…) My husband quite dutifully mowed the lawn. So the grass is well manicured, but the hedges are taking over.
Why? You are undoubtedly asking. What could possibly possess a person to do hours of yard work on a blisteringly hot Kentucky day in the middle of the summer? Is she crazy? Does she not realize the pool is open? Well, there is a method to my madness, I must say. You see, my father and mother are coming here to visit. I know they are, because the visit is another of my parents’ gifts to me. They are coming to take care of my family so I may head to a writer’s workshop.
Now I know it would not matter to my parents if they had to scythe a trail through the messiness that is generally my den. But first on my list was a thorough house cleaning. For those of you who know my mother, you realize her home is the warmest, most inviting home you’ve ever seen. You want to curl up on a window seat with a book and a blanket and a cup of hot tea and stay forever. The pantry is overflowing, as are the bookshelves, and everything is neat and tidy. But not in a museum, ‘don’t touch!’ kind of way. In a “I thought you might be in the mood to watercolor, so I went ahead and got some supplies and put them in a storage box with some fresh sketch paper. Here, have a homemade chocolate chip cookie while you paint…”
She could care less if the pantry is stocked, or the clothes already washed when she arrives. Dad, as I’ve mentioned, is well aware of my (how shall we say?) lack of landscaping genius. Even though they wouldn’t mind a bit if I leave the place in shambles on my rush out the door, I want everything to be ready. As a matter of respect, and honor, I want them to stay in a clean house, with a presentable yard, with food in the pantry. I want the kids’ clothes to be washed and laid out for school so that Mom and Dad can enjoy their return visit.
Dad would not think twice about setting down his suitcase and then immediately mowing the lawn, if that’s what I needed. Mom would set down her bags and run to the grocery to fill my refrigerator with fresh fruits and vegetables. They are continually in the mode of servanthood with love. It wouldn’t matter to them if the home was NOT ready for their return. However, it matters to me. It matters to me that when Daddy arrives, the yard is mowed and the hedges trimmed. It matters to me that the house is spotless, sheets washed, fresh towels laid out. It matters to me that the rock garden is weeded. If the garden were not properly taken care of, then it would appear that I had rejected the gift. That I didn’t care enough to maintain the masterpiece, to continue the good work, whether or not he was right there over my shoulder.
A neighbor and friend from college noticed my fierce garage cleaning out activity after dark the other night as she was driving by. She rolled down her window and commented jokingly: “So, I’m guessing your Dad is coming for a visit? Wouldn’t it be easier if you were always ready? Instead of this gung-ho craziness right before the arrival?”
And the parallel hit me like a ton of bricks. She’s absolutely right. I should ALWAYS be in a state of readiness. Not only for my earthly father, but my Heavenly Father for the return of Jesus. I know when my parents are arriving, I know how much time I have to prepare. But I do NOT know when Jesus will return, so the thought of His return must constantly be on my mind.
“Watch therefore, for you do not know what hour your Lord is coming. But know this, that if the master of the house had known what hour the thief would come, he would have watched and not allowed his house to be broken into. Therefore you also be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect. “ Matthew 24:44I must continue always in my service – my servanthood in love -
“Therefore, my beloved brethren, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that your labor is not in vain in the Lord.” 1 Corinthians 15:58So that I will be ready to meet Christ at any moment: “Watch therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour in which the Son of Man is coming.” Matthew 25:13As has become the recent norm, my spiritual epiphanies have come as I scrub the shower floor with a toothbrush. And it may sound crazy, but I look forward to the work because when I am quiet, and it is just me listening as I scrub, my mind begins to make connections not easily made when chauffeuring the kids to and from activities. So I am quite content to know that a day of straightening is ahead of me. Because this will be a day when God speaks to me again, as I get ready, for the return….

Hide and Seek and Find

Yesterday, the Pea decided we absolutely had to play ‘hide and go seek’ before I left to run errands. She’s a very literal child, and I knew that one game of hide and go seek, in her mind, would equal an hour’s worth of the game. I was meeting someone, and in a bit of a hurry. I told the Pea to go ahead and start counting and I would hide. I chose the wall (car keys in hand, beside the back door, no less) to be my secret spot. She found me in no time, was happy as a clam, and I went on my merry way.
Despite the fact that I know intellectually that God desires to have a close connection with me, for whatever reason, I often picture our relationship as a “hide and seek” arrangement. But this makes no sense at all! God wants to be found. He tells us – many times with those very words -- over and over again in the Bible that He wants to be found.
Those who seek me diligently find me. Proverbs 8:17As I mentioned previously, I’ve been in a “prophets” kind of reading kick lately:
For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will hear you. You will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you, declares the LORD. Jeremiah 29: 11-14I’m not sure why I turn our bond into an Indiana Jones movie. I often act as though I need to scale the pyramid walls to find the clue that will lead me to the next clue where I will use my double secret rose colored glasses to decipher which direction to turn. For whatever reason, my lesson this week from God has been (resoundingly): “I want to be found. I am not hiding from you. I’m in control. I have a plan – and you play a big part in it. So quit creating your own role, and listen to me explain this first section of my great and mighty blueprints – because, honestly, that’s all you can handle right now. If you saw the whole blueprint, it would blow your mind.”Look among the nations! Observe! Be astonished! Wonder! Because I am doing something I your days—You would not believe if you were told. Habakkuk 1:5Which reminds me of a week in the life of a parent. I know our family’s calendar. I can orchestrate the symphony of meals, homework, meetings, appointments, practices that comprise that time period. The kiddos rely on me to guide them from one day to the next. Pick ups, drop offs, bus stops…we concentrate on the present. Things go smoothly when they follow my instructions, things tend to get a little rocky when they go off in their own direction.
A few years ago, at a conference, I heard a speaker talk about how he would begin each morning…and then continue throughout the day, saying, “Lord, reveal yourself to me.” My initial instinct was that this was a surefire way of testing God, and I didn’t want to be a part of that action! Wasn’t that like daring God to show himself? (And in my mind, if we were playing “hide and seek”, why in the world would I want to taunt God?) But recently, it has occurred to me that asking God to reveal himself makes complete and utter sense. Saying – praying- this phrase, IS the very act of seeking God. And, as I’ve discovered, He WANTS to be found. So I’ve begun asking God to reveal Himself to me, every morning, every hour, every moment.
In the morning, O LORD, You will hear my voice; In the morning I will order my prayer to You and eagerly watch. Psalm 5:3And if you’ve been in contact with me, I’ve probably encouraged you to do the same. Because, the crazy – yet completely rational – truth is: God replies. When you ask God to reveal Himself, and then EXPECT to hear from Him, you begin to FIND Him, well…everywhere. And you begin to realize that what you formerly explained away as coincidences, maybe aren’t coincidences at all. But divine interventions, from God revealing Himself to you – the object of His love – because you began to seek Him, and discovered that He isn’t hiding after all.

Ask and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. Matthew 7:7

Highways, Hymns, and Him...

While most folks’ kiddos are listening to the Jonas Brothers (whom I personally adore), The Bug and the Pea prefer John Denver. Also great. Love me some John Denver. But EVERY single time we’re in the car is becoming a bit much as we head into the second year of our adoration. The other day, the Pea pondered, “Mama, Daddy must be a ‘country boy’ because he’s got himself ‘a fine wife’ too, huh?” (Love that child.)
The other day I purchased a new CD. Which is not something I do often. (Let’s just say that I’m still playing Amy Grant cassettes in my 1998 Nissan’s tape player). The newly purchased album includes 30 different contemporary Christian artists singing hymns... a bit jazzed up. And I have fallen head over heels in love with it. I’ve always loved hymns, playing them on the piano (well, hunting for the keys and playing slowly), singing to the girls as lullabies, listening to the stories behind the songs, what the lyricists were personally experiencing when they wrote the haunting words.
I was changing the sheets on our bed Saturday morning, and Take My Life, and Let It Be (Frances R. Havergal 1836-1879) was playing in the background. It’s a fine song, but I’ve never been particularly partial to it. But I gotta tell ya, as I was singing along, the phrases came alive in a way I had never known. In my minds eye the words were written as if a sparkler was tracing the letters in front of me. And they were burning on to my heart in a new way, each phrase a confirmation of things I had experienced/felt/wondered about the week before. “Take my hands and let them move at the IMPULSE of Thy love…” “Take my MOMENTS and my DAYS, Let them flow in CEASELESS praise…” “Take my will and make it Thine, It shall be NO LONGER MINE…” “Take my heart it is THINE OWN, It shall be Thy royal THRONE…” Had never taken too much time to think about the word ‘consecrated.’ But of course! Holy, sacred, sanctified, hallowed, set apart, blessed, revered. (As the villain Gru says in Despicable Me: “Light bulb”!)
I’ve also been struck recently that this journey is not a sprinting process. Much to my chagrin, as I’ve mentioned I’m a “let’s get everything done yesterday!” kind of gal. Let’s just say the word WALK and DAILY appear a lot in the scripture and in hymns. You never hear a verse instructing you to “construct your own plans and then make them happen immediately and then ask God to bless them because you’ve already taken care of everything in your own way…”
I’m learning that it’s a ‘little bit at a time’ kind of instruction. Follow in His leading each moment and then the next instructions will be revealed for the next moment. We have to be dependent on Him DAILY which is why we need to WALK with Him, FOLLOW Him. Two hymns immediately come to mind as I’m pondering this ‘little bit at a time’ direction.
“When we WALK with the Lord, in the LIGHT of His Word, what a glory He sheds on our way!” Trust and Obey (John H. Sammis 1846-1919)
“ALL to Jesus I surrender, ALL to Him I freely give; I will ever love and trust Him, In His presence DAILY live.” I Surrender All (Judson W. Van DeVenter 1855-1939)
I’ve heard an example given of a car traveling down the road on a foggy night. And I must say, I was traveling one evening from Lexington to Owensboro in fog so deep I could barely see my hand in front of my face. I was driving only a few miles per hour as visibility was zero. The car would inch forward and the headlights would only provide enough guidance to see a foot ahead. So I would inch along that foot, and then the lights would reveal the next foot, and I would inch along. I couldn’t see what was ½ mile down the road, I could only see what I absolutely needed to see at that very moment to move forward on the path I needed to travel, without running off the road into a ditch. I had to go slowly, follow the light, a little bit at a time, to stay on the road. Which is a practical metaphor for how I need to trust in the Light (Jesus) as He reveals to me the next few moments of the Road (His Plan for Me) I need to follow in order to reach the intended destination (My Purpose, My Part in His Perfect Plan, My Role in His Glorification).
Or, in the immortal words of John Denver, “Country Road, Take Me Home, To The Place, I Belong…”

Porch-Step-Sitting-Stance

I will take my stand at my watch post and station myself on the tower, and look out to see what He will say to me. Habakkuk 2:1So if you’ve been anywhere near me within the past few weeks, you know I’ve been crazy about Habakkuk. In fact, I’ve probably shared this verse with you via Facebook or e-mail or “snail-mail” letter. It has been so encouraging to me. Generally, I avoid the prophecy books of the Bible like the plague. I skip over them as if they are much too difficult for simple me to understand. The word itself, prophecy, conjures up images (in my mind) of fortune-tellers who lived a long time ago, and what does that have to do with me and two kids and a stack of loaded laundry baskets cascading down my washer? So, as I said, I usually flip past those books and head for something I can sink my teeth into…a meaty chapter of Romans, for example.
My Bible study girls know that this verse stuck out to me. The image of this man, literally standing watch, listening to hear God’s response to his complaint. (Which was, by the way: “God, if you’re so fair… then why are you letting this horribly wicked nation punish this kind-of wicked nation?) The part that I find compelling is not that he is spilling out his accusations and anguish… because my God is big enough to handle all questions and feelings. But the part that gets me, is that there is no doubt in Habakkuk’s mind that God will respond. Habakkuk is so very sure, that he has stationed himself at the town’s guard post so that as soon as God speaks, he will be there to receive the message. He knows instructions are coming, it’s just a matter of God’s time, so Habakkuk is going to wait, to make himself completely available to hear. I LOVE that!
I’ve felt very convicted about my prayer life lately. Oh, I’m great about spilling out my heart’s wishes and others’ needs and my desire to be a servant. But I’m not so great about discerning God’s response as to how He would like me to proceed. I usually pour out my worries, doubts, thanks, praises, confessions, supplications, and then immediately make my own plans. (I’m decidedly a people-pleaser and a fixer and an “I want everything to be done yesterday” kind of gal.) God and I are working on that, on this whole “surrender” gig of placing everything in His very capable hands and then waiting…. listening… praying… immersing myself in the Bible… and then proceeding once I discern His voice.
So, the Bug and the Pea love guests. LOVE them. Few days go by where kiddos from the neighborhood, or school aren’t playing in our house or yard. But it’s not just children my girls love, they love visitors of all kinds. The mail carrier, the paper delivery guy, the pizza delivery boy, grown ups stopping by, relatives passing through town. The Bug and the Pea are porch sitters. When they have advanced notice that someone will be popping over, they station themselves on the porch steps and wait.
It doesn’t matter if we know that Grandma and Granddad just left their house and it will take them a few hours to get here, the Bug and the Pea are stationed and waiting. They don’t want to miss out. They want to be there the very moment the car pulls in the driveway. No doubt in the kids’ minds that Grandma and Granddad will arrive, it’s just a question of when. (Of course this gets a little trickier in the winter time when the girls want to wait on the ice covered porch and I must coerce them into sitting beside the window and only making periodic checks outside in the blistery wind to see if guests are in sight.) And heaven help Grandma and Granddad when the car door opens and they are tackled with hugs and kisses by two very cute, but ornery little girls.
Nevertheless, I’ve decided I want to adopt a porch-step-sitting-stance as I wait upon God to speak. I want to be so certain that He will respond, to me personally, that I will station myself as if on the porch awaiting a guest I know – with certainty- will arrive, it’s just a question of when. And I want to have such a sense of urgency to hear God’s voice, that not even one moment will slip past unaware. And the bit about tackling with hugs? Somehow I think genuine praise and worship equates…

Bug In A Box a.k.a. The Pea's Pit Crew

The doorbell rang and the kids thought for certain a neighbor had stopped by to play. I opened the door in time to see a delivery truck drive away. And, yes…joy of all joys…sitting right there on our doorstep was a package. And not just any package, a perfectly rectangular, brand-spankin’ new box. The Bug and the Pea jumped up and down and reached out to grab the package. (Seriously, when did this pack of wolves invade our home?) When I saw the box was addressed to me, I assumed it was sent “in care of” me…as I am house-sitting. It’s not my birthday, so I opened the box sensing instructions would be inside. Maybe I was to wrap and send as a wedding gift, or deliver a baby gift or something of the sort.
The Bug helped me peel back the packing tape and the Pea took out a huge strip of bubble wrap. Which, thankfully, held the wolves at bay while I investigated further. (And I found a card, and it was a sweet gift just for me from a dear, dear friend, who TOTALLY shouldn’t have gone to the trouble she did and I am absolutely treating the next time we savor Pad Kee Mao.)
The kids plead for immediate ownership of the box. And I pondered. I love saving boxes that will end up housing the world’s most perfect Christmas present. And this was, quite a box, as I’ve mentioned. Nevertheless, the stars in their eyes told me I mustn’t mess with fate and I gave in to their request. The Pea scampered upstairs and brought down her doll baby carriage. The Bug followed behind with a box of Tinker-Toys.
My mind raced back to the days of refrigerator box rocket ships. My brother and I and 8 magic markers. Coloring control panels and monitors and ejector seat buttons on the inside of a giant cardboard tunnel. By the time I turned around, the kids had disassembled the carriage and created a kind of Soap Box Derby Car upholstered with bubble wrap. The Pea was wheeling herself around the dining room table, and the Bug was hunched down ready for a Pit Stop.
And I had to smile.
Because, as some folks say, The More Times Change, The More They Stay The Same…

Window Seat for The Fourth...

Usually we join the crowds and
Set a place between the widest trees.
The card tables overflow with fried chicken and green bean casserole
And brownies and homemade peach ice cream.
Most times it rains,
We always bring umbrellas and folding chairs
In the Red Ryder wagon we pull from our
Parking spot blocks away.
Music that makes me proud to be American
Beside the most ginormous Star Spangled Banner
I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Today the usual music didn’t play,
But I still heard music.
All snuggled up in cotton jammies,
Criss Cross Applesauce on the
Hope Chest beneath the picture window
That became our front row seats for the
Neighborhood’s colorful explosion
Celebrating our baby country.

In Which I Plan To Quell Disputes...

Today I came across a scripture verse I’m committing to memory: “Pursue the things which make peace and the building up of one another.” Romans 14:19. In fact, I taught the verse to the Bug and the Pea who subsequently choreographed hand motions as a way to memorize it. (I plan on having them repeat the verse aloud, in unison, when they’re at each other’s throats, sorely tempted to utter ugly things.)
I’ve decided this shall be my new mantra. If my mind is pursuing things which make peace – then I’m not apt to stir up trouble for the sake of argument. When I concentrate on edifying others, I look for chances to encourage and not tear down with words. When Paul wrote this verse in the Bible, he was speaking to the fellowships of Christian believers in Rome – some with a Gentile heritage and some with a Jewish heritage. He was concerned that the early church – this eclectic bunch of people with extremely different religious backgrounds – become a community of believers so united that the Church itself acted as one fluid body.
He must have sensed potential red flags: if one segment were to become legalistic, this judgment would in essence place the other members in legalistic bondage. Quite the opposite of the gospel’s freedom. Thus the body of Christ could not work fluidly toward the purpose of glorifying God. So Paul stressed acceptance…far above the disputes over what the individuals considered personal convictions regarding non-gospel issues.
Two thousand years later, I can picture this scenario:
Sunday School Member #1: “I brought a casserole to her house after the funeral…and I was looking for foil in the pantry…and I came across a bottle of Chardonay!”
Sunday School Member #2: “What?? White wine? And I thought she was a Christian!” (eye roll)
Sunday School Member #1: “I know! Such a disappointment. We need to put her on our prayer list.”

Perhaps disputes arise (or should I say, especially arise?) concerning the ceremonial practice of sacraments. Take the Lord’s Supper for example. When Jesus broke the bread representing His body broken for us, I don’t recall Him listing an inventory number for the purchase of denomination-specific wafers. Nor do I recollect the brand name of grape juice to be used when remembering His blood shed for us. If discussions occur where we are arguing over the type of “bread” or “wine” that would be most appropriate, I think we’re missing the entire point.
I just can’t believe it was ever His intent for fellowships of believers to divide themselves over interpretations of issues that have little to do with the gospel – the Good News. And just to clarify, the way I interpret the Good News is:
• Jesus loves us and wants us to live abundantly in Him on earth and eternally with God in heaven.
• God is too holy to be near sin.
• Which becomes the ultimate problem for humans: we are all sinners who need to be forgiven.
• God solves this problem by giving us Jesus, who becomes the perfect sacrifice providing us access to forgiveness of sins…and thus access to the Holy Spirit, the Son and God.
• Those who believe in God’s Son, confess their sinfulness/ask for forgiveness and surrender their “old” ways in exchange for Jesus as Master - accept the gift of grace.
All faith, no strings attached. Free gift. We don’t deserve to be forgiven. (Think about it, we don’t.) It’s a gift and you can’t earn a gift, you must accept it. And once you accept it, you can’t help but be changed as a result of the grace. As you become transformed, your old self (the “before Jesus came into your life to lead you” self) doesn’t seem so wondrous after all. Your new self longs to be more like your new Savior. And the Savior is all about LOVE. For everyone. (Yes, even the annoying coworker who shares a cubicle with you and drives you insane. Even the guy who swerved in front of you during rush hour.)
Love and grace define Jesus, the revolutionary, who was and is and is to come. Every move Jesus made was clothed in love. Even when he was shooing the money changers from the temple, Jesus’ anger was motivated by His love for the people of Jerusalem and God, the Father. (John 2:13)
He tells us over and over again to love, share His grace with everyone – friends, family, enemies in our own backyard and beyond, to the lands far from home. Somehow, we find a way to ignore the greatest commands (commands we are told completely sum up the law…) Mark 12:30: You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength…You shall love your neighbor as yourself. We then go directly to a minute detail we have personally felt convicted about, and, as such, have personally appointed ourselves as Lord and judge over our fellow neighbors (often our fellow Christian neighbors.) What would happen if, instead of focusing on judgment, we focused solely on glorifying God? (With every dispute, ask yourself, does this bickering glorify God and work toward His goal of bringing others into the Kingdom of Heaven? Or not?)
For what it’s worth, I believe in acceptance, fellowship, and love of other humans. I am accountable to God. Other Christians are accountable to God, they don’t answer to me. It is certainly not my job to be everyone’s Lord. (Thank goodness.) “So then each of us shall give account of himself to God. Therefore let us not judge one another anymore, but rather resolve this, not to put a stumbling block or a cause to fall in our brother’s way.” Romans 14:12-13 (As a side note, I picture this accountability as God sitting beside a film projector while a film of my life unfolds in front of me…kind of like a “game tape” following an athletic match).
Call me crazy, but it seems as if Jesus talked a whole lot more about love and grace and not so much about hate and judgment. I wonder if He must throw His arms up in frustration after watching Sunday worship services around the world. (I choose this example, thinking most folks at least attempt the appearance of Christ-like behavior when they’re in a church building.) I wonder if He ever confides to His Father, “Daddy, you know I love them, but your children are missing the forest for the trees!”