The Weight of Esther's Calling

In counseling people I love, I often see how in the midst of a challenge, God is calling her to rise in His strength. I often quote the call of Esther. Who knows that you've come to this position for such a time as this? Think of all the things that had to be in place for Esther to have the opportunity to save her people: Her parents died. She was taken in by a relative. She was beautiful. The queen disobeyed the king. Lots of alcohol. The king's advisers advised getting rid of the old queen and finding a new one. A man wouldn't bow. The man he wouldn't bow to decided that killing the non-bowing man was not enough; he would kill a whole people group. The king had a thing for Esther. The man who wouldn't bow saved the king's life. He happened to be the relative that took care of Esther. The king couldn't sleep one night and had his old records read out loud to him... etc., etc., etc.
And you. Look at all the little things that it took for you to stand right here.
And I know you don't take it lightly. If it were easy, you wouldn't have to stand up to do it. For Esther, it meant facing the possibility of death. And I know that's how you feel. Where's the energy? Where's the hope? Where's the support you need? This wasn't what you expected. It's not what you bargained for.
But, Esther made a decision. She said Yes. "If I die, I die." Real death.
And your death? Failure. Disappointment. A torn relationship. Embarrassment.
But, Esther made another decision. Pray, she said. Have everyone pray. For three days. Don't even eat. Pray, pray, pray.
Maybe it's time for you to stand up. Maybe it's time for you to say yes. Maybe it's time for you to step out and risk it all. Demand that I pray with you.

Not Where I Was Looking

I have had a crazy week. One that is emotionally draining, physically exhausting and even spiritually it has felt, well long. This morning I woke up two hours too early after having gone to bed two hours too late last night. This is the first place I've ever lived where I can't see the sunrise. And I miss it. So, my commitment is that if the Lord does wake me up early, I will try to go watch the sun waking up, too. But I haven't been able to find it. Today, I wound up the hill that my apartment leans up against. And I went up, up, up (when does a hill become a mountain?) and zigzagged back and forth, but the road never took me to the east side. I could tell the sun was on the move, I just couldn't get there. So, I gave up. I crawled back in bed.
Sometimes, we have seasons like that. We feel like we're chasing the Lord. We just want to reach Him. We're climbing and we're wiggling and we're just bound and determined to find Him. We are waiting for His voice in the raging wind. In the earthquake. In the fire. But, like Elijah, we can't hear Him.
So, I laid back in bed, thinking. I'll be honest and say that I wasn't even praying. I wrote an email. Found a good quote. Just rested. And waves of peace and comfort rolled over me. And then my iPod's alarm came on. Songs of worship and Truth. Songs of God's glory and His passion for me and for the lost. And the words and the music ministered to me. And God spoke.
Not in the sunrise. Not in the physical activity of walking and trying to pray. Not in the beauty of the gardens or villas or even the vistas overlooking the city. He spoke through my head on my comfy pillow and my worship play list.
A still small voice.
He does promise that He'll be found. Just maybe not where we are looking. Surprise us, oh, Lord.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yubLGTOcm8c&feature=related

Ugly On the Outside

Where my narrow street meets the big road, there is a little fruit and veggie market. Little. But bursting forth with brilliant colors, so much so, that crates and tables overflow to the very edge of the street. Claudia greets me with, "Ahh! Darling!" Today her helper giggled as they both ran around the shop cleaning their jewels and holding an ice cream stick. "We work in a vegetable market and every day we eat ice cream!" And everyday I go to see what deliciousness they have new.
Today, I went to buy veggies to make salsa and fruit to fill my fruit bowl. I picked a handful of beautiful, rich-red tomatoes. The other worker, a dark skin boy, said, "For your house? No! You need something better. Try these. They are sweeter and heavy with flavor." But they were ugly. Long and with yellowy patches. "These are the best."
So often, we want our "fruit" to look good. I want it to appear orderly and perfect. No spots. No discoloration. A perfect specimen. But, it's true, isn't it - that most times the most delicious fruit are the ones that aren't perfect.
So, maybe my kitchen isn't spotless. And maybe I mess up on the lyrics of a song. And maybe I send a birthday card late.
Maybe I need to be thinking about how my fruit tastes instead of what it looks like on the outside.