SelahV Today by hariette petersen

MOMENT OF TRIUMPH

Coats and garments were lain on the ground.

The King of Jerusalem was soon to be crowned.

The news of his coming was spread far and wide;

Crowds danced in the streets awaiting his ride.

Branches of palms were strewn at his feet, as children rejoiced--the king they'd soon meet.

A triumphal beginning would end as He came, from Bethlehem's stable to Golgotha's shame.

"I thirst," said the king; they offered him gall.  A sponge filled with bitterness--a gift from us all.

"Behold, John, your mother," He said with a groan, as blood-drops from Heaven cried for It's Own.

Soldiers gathered at the foot of His cross, gambling and sneering--a pity, their loss.

"Forgive them, my Father, they really don't know."  Jesus relinquished all guilt that we owe.

"My God, My God, why am I forsaken?"  Dark clouds replied, "It's man's sin You've taken."

The earth quaked in anger; the skies screamed with rage. "It's finished," He stated.  God emptied the stage.

[copyrighted, SelahV Today, 2007]

WHICH FOUR WORDS?

"THE PURPOSE OF PRAYER IS TO GET GOD'S WILL DONE." S.D. Gordon

Do you always pray God's will be done?  Is it that little phrase you add to the end of your prayer, if it be Your will?

I'm reading an old book by S.D. Gordon, QUIET TALKS ON PRAYER dated 1904.  I'd never quite thought of prayer in the way he talks about it.  He wrote, "Some of us shrink back from making a full surrender of life to God.  And if the real reason were known it would be found to be that we are afraid of God.  We fear He will put something bitter in the cup, or some rough thing in the road."

I've thought alot lately about Jesus and his prayer in Gethsemane before His brutal beatings and mocking and scorning.  I read somewhere the other day that the hardest thing about that night was not submitting to the cross and the cruelty of His upcoming humiliation and torture.  No.  It was far worse than that.  It was literally becoming sin.  Not just sinning, like we do, like I do--wherein I feel horrible afterwards.  No.  Jesus Himself became sin--the entire world's sin.  He was the embodiment of sin.  A man who knew no sin--innocent, guiltless--became the sin of all mankind.  It's no wonder He sweat drops of blood.

And going to the cross was putting an end to all sin.  Every bit of it.  Forever.  Jesus attoned for it all on the cross--obedience unto death.  It wasn't death He agonized over in the garden...in death there would be no sting--only victory. I would guess when He cried, "It is finished," that relief was beyond any imaginable.  For in that moment all sin was lifted from Him and carried into the bowels of hell.  Gordon writes, "The greatest prayer anyone can offer is, 'Thy will be done.'  Every true prayer comes under those four words."

Can you think of one single thing you could ask of God which would not be in keeping with His will that you actually would ask?  Would you ask He turn your child away from drugs?  Would you ask He forgive you as you forgive others?  A friend away from ungodly behavior?

I like this quote, "There is not a good desirable thing that you have thought of that He has not thought of first, and probably with an added touch not in your thought."

Gordon says prayer is "Not to grit your teeth and lock your jaw and pray for grace to say, "thy will be endured: it is bitter, but I must be resigned;...".  He considers that slandering God.  "There is a superficial idea among men that charges God with many misfortunes and ills for which He is not at all responsible.  He has a bad mixture of stubborn warped human wills to deal with.  With infinite patience and skill and diplomacy and success too, He is ever working at the tangled skein of human life, through the human will."

Is this where "God is working all things to good, according to His riches in Christ Jesus" might apply?  At any rate, God's will is ultimately accomplished.  Why are we afraid to allow God to work His will out with us?  Why do we seem to think we have a better way?  Why can't we trust Him?  Why can't we wait upon Him?  He says he "will perfect that which concerns me." Ps.138:8.  He says to "Trust, lean, and acknowledge and He will direct my path."  What don't we understand about that?

I think the dilemma comes when we say with our lips, "thy will be done," while thinking in our hearts, but make mine Yours. Which four words matter today?  That's worth pondering before we utter any at all, I think.  SelahV

HOW DOES DEATH FEEL?

What would you say to a nine-year-old?  Especially one who'd lost her daddy not quite two years ago.  My granddaughter asked me that.  Only she inquired, "Grama, what does it feel like to die?"

I had a response, and it seemed to satisfy her.  But I wish I had asked her what made her wonder.  It would have done much more for the dialog.  I'm fortunate she expanded on her question a little.  I'm equally blessed that she finds my home a place where she is free to ask whatever, whenever.  Nothing is taboo.  But I wonder, how would you have answered her question, knowing the little I've told you?  selahV

I WILL REMEMBER

 "Oh magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt His name together." Ps.34:3

Like a tower reaching high into the sky, my faith holds on to You, oh Lord.  My yesterdays bear witness to Your help in the past.  Like stones layered one by one, each is strengthened by the one before.  In You I placed my trust for mercy, grace and healing.  Your steadfast hand did not fail me. 

In the midst of my pain, You met me and strengthened me with encouragement of others.  You gave me rest when there was no sleep.  You gave me strength when weakness demanded all of me.  You gave me joy though sorrow surrounded me.  You healed me, Lord.  And I praise You for Your goodness to me when none was deserved.  You have shortened the days of my illness.  You have answered the prayers of Your children who have sought Your throne of mercy on my behalf.  May You be glorified and praised!  I will remember Your help; Your blessings will not be forgotten.  selahV

TEMPTED TO SLEEP

An archway before me.  I peeked through into a tiny courtyard.  Beyond the courtyard was a stone wall, steps leading to a hillside--a garden of sorts.  It seemed inviting.  I thought, It looks like what I imagine Gethsemane to be.

It was lovely.  Spring spoke in tiny green whispers on mesquite trees.  So they weren't olive trees.  It still gave imagery of the Mount of Olives.  I felt my heart travel somewhere I'd been before, to the time I bowed in prayer and gave my life to the Savior Who'd spent His last night in a garden--praying. It gave me pause.

Gethsemane.  Jesus had asked so little of His disciples before He walked a stone's throw away to commune with the Father in Heaven.  "Pray that you will not fall into temptation."  Instead of praying, they slept. 

And after Jesus had prayed, the disciples were thrown into the most horrific test of their lives as His followers.  If only they had prayed.  Would they have had more courage?  Would they have faced the opposition with solidarity?  Or would they, still, have cowered, run and scattered?  I wonder.

Today I face my own struggles. Life beyond the archways of familiarity and comfort beckon each and every day.  Some days I find myself wanting to stay behind and sleep.  Let others handle it all; let them sacrifice. 

Oh, Gethsemane; do I want to go through that struggle?  Do I dare move through the archway toward a trial beyond any I've ever known?  I long to stay on this side.  I am familiar with the path.  Do I enter in?  Do I stay?  I must pray, "Lead me not into temptation, and deliver me from the evil one.  Not my will be mine, oh Lord, but Thine and Thine alone." selahV [copyrighted, SelahV Today, 2007]

INVADED BY WORMS!

CHECK IT OUT!  Last year I decided I wanted to have a garden.  I envisioned gigantic sunflowers bordering my fenceline, roses trailing on trellises, lavender and daisIes swaying in the breeze.  I saw sprawling cucumber vines ladened with cukes, and towers of tomatoes.  I wanted tons of cantelope I could share with the neighbors and plenty of flowers I could cut and arrange for gifts.

What I didn't envision was Oklahoma's nasty red clay that clunks up and hardens like a potter's clay in a 5000 degree kiln.  The soil ain't soil, it's just plain clay.  It does nothing for a person's gardening efforts.  After spending hours in the April sun, digging through 6-inch deep broadleaf grass roots, I unearthed some soil I felt might have possibilities.  It even had a few earthworms wiggling their way through the dirt.  So I dug and dug and dug some more.  But deep in my heart I knew the ground was lousy.  I decided to start a compost heap.

My husband wasn't keen on the idea.  Can't blame him.  He thought the garbage I was lugging out to the little pile of dirt I'd mounded up as a starter was going to stink up the neighborhood.  But it didn't.  I went to a friend's farm and picked up dry cow patties to add to my mix.  My next door neighbor has her grass professionally mowed.  When I saw that the lawn-folk were bagging the grass, I asked if they'd just toss it over the fence onto my pile.  It was great "heat" for cooking my compost.  This year we have two truckloads of black fertile soil for our efforts.  However we also have some other things.

GIGANTIC Grub worms.  And I do mean gigantic.  If you click on the picture at the left, you can see the size of the ones which come from my compost.   They are the big ones on each end.  The one in the center comes from a garden bed I had last year.  They are bigger around than my size 5 ring finger.  Shudder, ick, yuck, disgusting.  They are the ugliest worms!   They give me the heebie-jeebies.  Last year my geraniums kept croaking because those chubby grubbies sucked the life out of their roots.  As I turned over my flower beds this year, the beds were full of the grotesque things.  Anyone know how to get rid of them?  Without dumping a five-gallon drum of insecticide on my ground?  (I've already picked out some and tossed them to the birds, but we're not talking ten or fifteen worms here!  There are a bunch of them!

I don't want to mix that great compost soil into my garden beds until I've destroyed those gigantic monsters that will devour every seedling I plant. Help!   

SONG OF SUFFERING

Blessed am I.  I have a new song to sing.  A song of suffering...oh, so slight my pain in comparison to the world's.  Such a pinprick of usefulness in recalling my Savior's so many years ago during passover's remembrance and crucifixion's torture.

I've been in quite a bit of pain lately.  My lower back, spine and hip.  I'd tried to work it out--presuming it was from gardening, and lugging my granddaughters around on my hip.  Then Friday, I started to itch at a spot on my waist.  It was about the size of a dime and appeared to be a bugbite--strongly resembled a chigger invasion.  But my pain in my hip got worse, my back was throbbing and burning.  I thought about it and recalled that for two weeks, the pain had been throbbing, burning, numbing and itching; only it had no whelps or rash.  Then it hit me.  Shingles.

I did a quick search on the web and sure enough all my symptoms pointed to shingles.  I mentioned it to my husband and he said, "awh, you probably just have a bug-bite."  So, I shook off the thought, applied some cortisone cream, took 3 aspirins and went to bed.  I awoke in the night in greater pain.  I checked the spot and it had multiplied.  I tried not to diagnosis myself--chiggers; that's what chiggers do.  They spread.  I took more aspirin, applied more cream and went back to bed.

The next morning the "bites" had multiplied ten times.  No longer satisfied with the fact that it was chiggers, I diagnosed myself.  I have shingles.  Couldn't go to the doctor.  Didn't want to go to the emergency room.  So I pumped myself full of Vitamin C, B-6, B-12 and probiotics.  The pain was excruciating.  I could barely move without it intensifying.  I couldn't stand to touch it; it felt like I was punching myself with needles.

By Sunday morning my pain was like a wrenched muscle being strained without any need of movement.  When I moved, the pain was worse.  When I sat still the pain grew stronger. But I wouldn't have missed Sunday School for anything.  My two granddaughters were here for the weekend and the highlight of every visit was going to Sunday School at our church.  So I found a long loose-fitting skirt I could hike up above my waistline that still hung just above my ankles.  I wore sandals with no nylons.  It wasn't ideal, but better than clothes that hugged.  I told our Sunday School department, I had a prayer request and a praise:  "I have shingles, but they aren't on my face; I have it better than Job with his boils."  At least I wouldn't have to scrape my skin with pottery shards.

I focused on the most positive thought I could.  I had recognized what I had in time to get the anti-viral medication.  And fortunately for me, they prescribed a special concocted shingles cream for the itching.  I have loritab for the pain.

All things considered, it could be worse.  As I sit here typing, I think my suffering is minimal in comparison to some folks.  It's horrible in comparison to others.  But the Lord has given me a new song.  In all things, I rejoice.  I am so grateful I went to church in spite of my pain.  In Sunday School, Brooklyn, 9, said Ms. Faye told her she didn't have to recite the memory verse because she hadn't been there the week before.  But she memorized it and said it anyway.  She was so excited when she shared that with me.  She then recited it to her younger sister, Abby;  "Do what is right and good in the Lord's sight, so it will go well with you." {Deut.6:18.

And then they began to discuss it.  "What's right?  What's good?"

It was right not to yell at each other.  It was good to share.  It was right to not cuss.  It was right to obey right away.  It was good to pray.  It was right to take turns.  By the time we reached our house, they had decided exactly what was good and right in the sight of the Lord.  Later, as I lay in a recliner, wallowing in the pain and misery of the moment, Brooklyn got me some gingerale.  Then she got her sister some apple juice.  She let the dog out.  She kept the dog from jumping on me.  Abby didn't crawl up next to me as usual, but laid on the foot of the recliner and took a nap.  Brooklyn picked up their room, straightened up the kitchen and gathered up all their belongings to take back home. 

I smiled.  She was doing what was right and good in the sight of the Lord.  And watching it, brought lyrics of joy and notes of harmony to my soul.  What a balm for a suffering body--to witness God at work in a child's heart.  And as pleasing as it was to me, I can imagine how sweet the smell of incense was to our Father above.  I wonder if I would have heard the song had it not been for the stillness of suffering.  selahV  [copyrighted, selahV Today, 2007]  NOTES OF INTEREST REGARDING SHINGLES:

1. There is a vaccine which could prevent them.  (If you are 60 or older--which I'm not--a single shot of Zostavax to the arm reduces the odds of an outbreak of shingles.  If you have a flare-up even after getting the vaccine, your symptoms will be milder.  MY SUGGESTION:  GET IT!  I wouldn't wish this on Osama Bin Ladin.

2.  There is a drug, Lyrica, which helps treat painful neuropathy, also known as nerve pain.  This type pain follows the outbreak of Shingles.  It works on the nerves that cause the pain.  As usual, it has side effects--what medication doesn't?  However, I shall definitely try it, if this pain persists.  I cannot imagine what folks are doing without any relief.  It's bad enough with pain meds. 

 

WOE IS ME...

My heart cries.  My soul weeps.  My spirit moans.  For those who have ears cannot hear.  Those who have eyes cannot see.  And those who have minds cannot reason.  Deafness, blindness and confusion have invaded the hearts of some for pursuit of their own ways.

I pledge allegiance to the Lamb, for by His precious blood He gave me life everlasting.  I pledge my steps be lit by the path of His Lamplight.  I commit anew the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart that they be acceptable in God's sight.  I refuse to pledge allegiance to myself, my views, or another's views and opinions.

I am baffled at the wall of Jericho that will not fall no matter how many trumpets are blown or how many voices are raised or how loud the trumpet blares.  Our world is so sick--so ill, so filled with the evil of satan.  Young Christians gather for prayer and mobs mock them and curse them in the streets of San Francisco.  Crosses are removed from across the land and one in the Mojave Desert is covered with plywood by the ACLU because it is an offense to a minority of godless people in our land.  African Christians are being killed and unjustly imprisoned for observing a day of prayer in Zimbabwe.  And Christians are pitting their needs, desires and ambitions against other Christians with no regard to the collaterol damage they inflict.  Depravity visits our homes and we give it license to our minds by way of televisions and computers.   We scramble and shove and force our way to gain personal possessions, pleasures and comfort, while thousands upon thousands are dying in Darfur for lack of one cup of water, one plate of rice.   

I am grateful for a God who will right all wrongs, bring to light all darkness and remake it into His glory.  He reminds me, "For I the Lord your God hold your right hand; I am the Lord, Who says to you, Fear not; I will help you."  Why oh why, dear Lord do we not trust more in thee?  Why oh why dear Father do we not rest in Your promises?  Why oh why Almighty God enthroned above all the earth and heavens above, do we find pleasure in seeking solutions in our clumsey, impotent ways? 

"My flesh trembles and shudders for fear and reverential, worshipful awe of You, and I am afraid and in dread of Your judgements." Ps.119:120.  Yet I beg You my Father, "Deal with Your servant according to Your mercy and lovingkindness and teach me Your statutes.  I am Your servant; give me understanding (discernment and comprehension), that I may know Your testimonies."{124,125

Though I want to shout, "It is time for the Lord to act; they have frustrated Your law", {126, I bring my burdens to You my God and my Redeemer.  May You be manifested in all I say and do as I seek to be a peacemaker.  I have all but given up on those who war in stubborn rebellion against You, Father.  But I'm leaving my burden in Your hands now.  I take my rest in You.  I leave all reproof, admonition and exhortation to Your servants and beg You to make me an encourager.   "My times are in Your hands."

May this day be filled with the grace of my Savior and may all find solace in the presence of His Spirit as they breathe Your breath of Life.  Amen...  selahV [copyrighted, selahV today, 2007]

WHEN RIGHT IS WRONG...

...AND BLACK AIN'T WHITE.

THERE'S AN ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM.

I've never understood racism.  My mother abandoned my two elder brothers and me when I was just 3 years old.  Fortunately I was blessed with a wonderful nanny who cared for me like I was her very own--Trisha.  She happened to be black.  In those days, she was called a negro.  The first time I ever really noticed she was black was when I saw her shaving her legs.  I must have been about five.   She was all lathered up with white soap.  As she drew the razor up her leg, the black was stark against the background of white.  I recall as if yesterday, asking, "Trisha, how come you are black?"

"Oh, child, the Lord made me this way."

I didn't know much about the Lord at the time, but I knew the Lord was someone who was suppose to be good and if He made her black then it was a good thing.  Then I wondered, why am I white?  If black was good, then is white bad?  Trisha assured me that white wasn't bad either.  That the Lord made both black and white and both were exactly what He wanted them to be.

Through the years, I listened as my father called negroes "niggers".  Daddy thought the absolute world of Trisha.  I never heard him call her by that term.  But I heard him refer to other black people that way.  I never understood it.  Not then.  Today I do.  Daddy was prejudiced.  He was prejudiced by his own culture.  His upbringing.  By our country's disdain for black people.  I didn't know much about the politics of it all as a child.  I only observed the treatment of blacks.  I heard the names they were called.  I saw the way they were considered second-class (or worse) people.  It was confusing to me, especially since I loved Trisha as a mother and saw absolutely nothing wrong with being black.

When I was a freshman in highschool in Virginia, the first black girl was admitted to our all-white school.  I'd heard she was coming for days.  It was like some disease was on its way, that we should all be prepared.  I'm a bit surprised that they didn't have us vaccinated prior to her arrival.  Joyce Phillips Russell* was her name.  I'll never forget going to her and introducing myself.  She barely spoke to me.  I was trying to be nice.  But she came close to totally rebuffing my extension of friendship.  Then, I didn't know why.  Today I do.

Joyce was scared to death.  Lord only knows what she'd been through.  She'd lived her entire life knowing white people viewed her as trash.  She had to use a different drinking fountain.  She couldn't go into white restaurants.  She had to use a different restroom.  There's no doubt in my mind, she knew firsthand the racial bigotry that caused fellow members of her race to be hanged for less reasons than drinking at a white water fountain.  And now she was entering the white world with no other black person at her side.  I know I was not patronizing her.  In my heart, I didn't understand why others considered her any less a person than they did white people.  Trisha had taught me that as a little child.  But Joyce couldn't know what I'd been taught.  She only knew what she had experienced.

Today, over 45 years later, the divide between black and white is still here.  Much progress has been made on the part of blacks.  Much progress has been made on the part of whites.  But we still face the same suspicions, judgmental attitudes and prejudice that we faced back then.  Every time we get a bridge built, someone comes along and either blows it up, or rams the support beneath it.  This week a Christian brother rammed a support.

While I totally understand where he was coming from, I cannot condone where he stood when he made a hasty statement in anger and in intellectual rebuke of an entity he had been part of and with which he shared a common brotherhood.

I am certain he was sincere in his apology on another's website for what he'd previously said about a "lynching".  However, I do not believe his explanation for what he said about the "lynching".  I truly believe, he has issues with race, just as white people have issues with race.  There is an elephant in the room and I believe we all need to begin talking about that elephant or that elephant will trample us all to death--white and black.

I for one, have a great deal of difficulty trying to talk to blacks because of fear.  I fear I'm going to offend them.  I do not have to measure every word with anyone else--of any other race--as I do my black brothers and sisters.  I don't live in fear of reprisal.  I live in fear of not being understood.  Of being considered a racist.  Of being judged by an invisible standard based upon the history of men and women I never knew or even cared to know.

Black folks don't like being lumped into a stereotypical description of ghetto-mentality and I don't like being lumped into a stereotypical description of slaveownership-mentality.  When I say a person--be he white or black--is articulate, I am giving a compliment.  I have black friends who are married to white friends.  I don't think less of my black friends for marrying a white person, so why would I think less of my white friends for marrying a black person?

I love to hear black preachers preach.  I love the color they add to their messages.  I love the way they preach in cadence.  I love the fervor with which they preach.  I love the way they use a repetitive poetic statement and expound on it and plant the Truth in my memory.  I do not like all black preachers--no matter how they preach.  I do not like all white preachers either.

I want to be understood as much as my fellow black brothers and sisters want to be understood.  I'm just as tired of being considered a racist because I happen to be born white, as a black person is of being considered less than human because he/she is born black.

We are living in an age where finally two black coaches can take two integrated teams to the superbowl and win.  Neither of them lost that game this year.  We are living in a time when a man born to a black father and white mother can run for President of the United States.  It is sad to see the first woman running for President feel she must be black in order to beat that candidate for her party.  It's awful to hear the media continually beat the race drum regarding voters.  Rather than getting the votes...each candidate targets specific votes...according to race, gender, and faith.  What happened to equality and not discriminating?

I pray we can all begin to dialog regarding our different views without hiding beneath white sheets or pulling out ropes to make a point.  God is no respecter of color, but we are.  And until we admit we are, we are no better than the person we are accusing of the same racism.  I have one criteria by which I judge a man, a woman or a candidate for anything.  What fruit do they produce?  I want to be judged likewise.

I have no idea what is going on behind the scenes at SWBTS.  And unless a person is sitting in the chairs of all the trustees, they don't either.  And unless each individual with an opinion can read the minds, hearts and motives behind every word and action of the trustees, we are not in any place to judge.

That said, when any one of the trustees goes public with their feelings via written or uttered word, they have opened the door for inspection of their innermost character--whether they intended to or not.  And as brothers and sisters in Christ, we are accountable to God to correct, exhort and reprove.  But we are commanded to do so in love, gentleness and with a spirit of reconciliation.  Less than that is just as ungodly as any act an offending brother or sister has committed.

I invite anyone to share their ideas on how to better communicate with all races, all people or all genders.  Oh, dear Lord, that we all be blind to the color of our skin.  Oh, dear Lord, that we could all view others with Your eyes, through the crimson blood of the Lamb rather than through the history of others' discrimination.  Let us "purge out the old leaven" that we "may be fresh dough, still uncontaminated, for Christ, our Passover".  "Let us keep the feast, not with old leaven, nor with leaven of vice and malice and wickedness, but with the unleavened [bread] of purity (nobility, honor) and sincerity and (unadulterated) truth." (I Cor.5:7,8. Amplified)   Let this moment be significant, Lord.  Let it be significant for Your glory and not ours.   Let our need to be right be brought into Your Light and exposed for the wrong that it is.  selahV [copyrighted, selahVtoday, 2007] NOTE OF INTEREST, posted 3/11/07 : Peter Lumpkins has posted validation to this post on his blog and there is dialog on his post that gives great dialog on this subject.  I highly recommend you visit Peter's Blog and read the comment section. SelahV

[*May 19, 2012:  I recalled Joyce's last name to be Phillips for some reason.  However, according to her own book that is coming out, A Blue's Song of Her Own, her name was Russell]