Mummy

Mummy

About this time, a man and woman from the tribe of Levi got married. The woman became pregnant and gave birth to a son. She saw that he was a special baby and kept him hidden for three months. But when she could no longer hide him, she got a basket made of papyrus reeds and waterproofed it with tar and pitch. She put the baby in the basket and laid it among the reeds along the bank of the Nile River. The baby’s sister then stood at a distance, watching to see what would happen to him.

Soon Pharaoh’s daughter came down to bathe in the river, and her attendants walked along the riverbank. When the princess saw the basket among the reeds, she sent her maid to get it for her. When the princess opened it, she saw the baby. The little boy was crying, and she felt sorry for him. “This must be one of the Hebrew children,” she said. (Exodus 2:1-6)

Mother’s Day can be bittersweet. For some, there’s no one in the world like their mom. For others, motherhood was an accident, a biological impossibility, or their moms just weren’t that nice. Regardless, becoming a mother is a lot easier than being one. Because there’s days when a mom would actually like to eat the entire candy bar, and drink a Coke without the floaties in it; or days when they’d like their kitchen utensils to stay in the kitchen and not end up in the sandbox. But then there’s days when asking, “Why me?” that moms get their answer from a little voice that says, “Because I love you best.” Some of the greatest people in history will tell you how important their mothers were. George Washington, for example, declared: “All I am I owe to my mother.” Moses could very well have said the same.

Moses became the kind of man he was because of the type of mother he had. In fact, who he was was very much determined by the type of mothers he had, because God gave Moses two of them. Both of the women who fulfilled the maternal role in the life of Moses made certain choices that impacted the course of Moses’ life, and those choices made Moses the man he became. The old saying, “The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world,” was absolutely true in the life of Moses. And the choices made by Moses’ mothers teach us a lot about love, about life and about the legacy we leave our children.

Moses was born into a culture of death. According to Pharaoh’s decree, Moses should have been drowned as soon as he was born. So, imagine Jochebed’s pregnancy. Imagine the waiting, the expectancy, the wondering whether the baby would be a girl or a boy. There were no ultrasounds then, so she and her husband, Amram, simply had to wait until Jochebed gave birth. And when she did, she delivered a baby boy. In his mother’s eyes, he was special, and she refused to kill him. She chose to disobey the command of Pharaoh and allow her son to live. (Heb. 11:23) But how do you hide a baby and spare the family’s life?

Neighbors knew that Jochebed was expecting. So, how would she explain the fact that she wasn’t pregnant any longer? How could she keep the existence of a growing, rambunctious baby boy from getting out? And although her faith in God would not allow her to murder her son, her faith in God was also so great that she was willing to trust God with his life. But even though she couldn’t kill her child, she knew she couldn’t secure his life, either. So, she purchased a little basket of reeds, applied some pitch for waterproofing, and put her baby boy into the basket, setting him adrift on the providence of God.

Meanwhile, the daughter of Pharaoh had come down to the river to bathe. Spotting the little ark, she sent her maid to investigate. When the maid brought the basket to her, she looked inside and found a crying baby boy. His circumcision branded him a Hebrew, and immediately the princess understood that his mother had chosen life over death for this child. And in that instant, the princess had a choice to make as well. She could obey her father’s decree and have the child killed. After all, it would’ve been easy. All she would have had to do was instruct one of her servants to tip the ark over and the child would have drowned. But she didn’t. This pagan princess, born into a culture of death, chose life for a child who should have been dead.

Tragically, our culture’s not very different. We live in a world where the most dangerous place for an unborn child is the very place where it should be the safest: a mother’s womb. We live in a world where not every pregnant woman wants to be a mother. We live in a culture that allows a woman to take away the life of their unborn child. Death may have been easier for Moses, but both of his moms chose to give him life.

As the story unfolds, we begin to understand that these moms loved Moses more than they loved themselves. His birth mother risked her life to save his life, and his adoptive, Egyptian mother risked the wrath of her father, the Pharaoh, to save his life again. Why? Because they loved Moses. Their love for this child motivated them to action. Jochebed loved Moses because he was her baby boy. Her body had given him life, and had nourished him as he grew. And it was her love for Moses that allowed him to fulfill the greatest earthly destiny ever designed for any Hebrew since. She risked everything to save him, and 80 years later, by God’s grace, Moses saved his people from Egyptian slavery by destroying the most powerful nation on the planet without lifting a sword, or shooting an arrow. Jochebed’s love allowed Moses to fulfill his God-given destiny to be the savior of his people.

The princess loved Moses, too. Because God had put it in her heart. Otherwise, what possible motivation could the pagan daughter of the Pharaoh have had to adopt the son of a Hebrew slave? Her heart was moved by the plight of a helpless child, and she claimed him as her own. She even named him Moses – a reference to being “drawn out” of the Nile River. And the name proved providential. Because one day Moses would draw his people out of the slavery of his adoptive nation. Ironic, too, that the Pharaoh would be paying for the raising of a child whom he had earlier ordered to be murdered, and who would – one day – be the ruination of the Pharaoh’s empire.

God put love for this child into the hearts of two very different women. God spared Moses from certain death because he had a plan for his life. And God loved Moses, too. He was “… a beautiful child in God’s eyes.” (Acts 7:20) And so God worked in the hearts and lives of others to cause them to love Moses.

Many years ago, a young mother was making her way across the hills of South Wales, carrying her tiny baby in her arms. On the journey, she and her baby were overtaken by a blinding blizzard. Tragically, the young mother never reached her destination. Days later, when the blizzard had subsided, a search and rescue team eventually found her slumped beneath a mound of snow. The rescuers also discovered that, before her death, the young mother had taken off all of her outer clothing and wrapped them around her baby. And when they unwrapped the child, much to their surprise, they discovered that the baby was alive and well. Years later that child, David Lloyd George, would become prime minister of Great Britain, and one of England’s greatest statesmen. All because of a mother’s sacrificial love.

As we read on, it’s easy to see that both of these mothers also invested themselves in Moses’ life. His Egyptian mother gave him the best that Egypt had to offer. (Acts 7:22) The ancient Jewish historian, Josephus, wrote that by virtue of being adopted into the Pharaoh’s family, Moses was in line to succeed to the throne. As a result, he was trained as a prince in Egypt, and he was trained for leadership. That training, of course, would serve him well in the future that God had in store for him.

But his birth mother gave him something his adoptive mother could not: an introduction to the God of Israel while she weaned Moses for the Pharaoh’s daughter – a period generally ranging from 18 months to 5 years. So it was during this time that Jochebed told her son about the true and living God. She warned him about the false gods and religions of Egypt. She told him the stories of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. She told him why God’s people were in bondage in Egypt. And she told him about the promises of God that, one day, His people would be delivered from their bondage. With time, these lessons took root.

“It was by faith that Moses, when he grew up, refused to be called the son of Pharaoh’s daughter. He chose to share the oppression of God’s people instead of enjoying the fleeting pleasures of sin. He thought it was better to suffer for the sake of Christ than to own the treasures of Egypt, for he was looking ahead to his great reward. It was by faith that Moses left the land of Egypt, not fearing the king’s anger. He kept right on going because he kept his eyes on the one who is invisible.” (Heb. 11:24-27) And by the time Moses was 40, he understood that God would use him to deliver the people of Israel from slavery. “One day when Moses was forty years old, he decided to visit his relatives, the people of Israel. He saw an Egyptian mistreating an Israelite. So Moses came to the man’s defense and avenged him, killing the Egyptian. Moses assumed his fellow Israelites would realize that God had sent him to rescue them, but they didn’t.” (Acts 7:23-25)

In other words, the lessons Moses learned from his mother set the very course for his life. And the lessons your children learn from you will do the same. For instance, if your daughter leaves home without being able to balance her checkbook, but has a clear understanding of God and his Son, she’s way ahead of her smartest peers. Or, if your son leaves home and doesn’t know how to play baseball, conjugate a verb, solve long division problems, or multiply fractions, but knows that the Bible is God’s Word, that Jesus is the friend of sinners and that God loves him, he’s way better off than his peers who learned nothing about God from their parents.

As parents, we want our children, and their children, to have more than we did. We want them to have a better education, a better home, a better life. And that’s good. Solomon said as much: “Good people leave an inheritance for their children’s children.” (Prov. 13:22) But their inheritance should include the wealth that only a deep, personal and abiding relationship with God can bring. That begins with prayer, for and with them, and reading the Word and explaining it to them as they study for themselves. We should give them Jesus, and him crucified and resurrected – the hope of their, and the world’s salvation.

So moms, thinking back on it, why did you love your newborn? Because for months the baby was a pain, made you break out in pimples and waddle like a duck. You craved sardines and crackers, and you threw up in the morning. He punched you in the stomach. She occupied space that wasn’t hers, and ate food she didn’t fix. And then, no sooner out of the womb, he started crying – the room was too cold; the blanket too rough; the nurse too mean. And who did she want? Mom.

And in this process you had become a virtual barbarian – you screamed, you swore, you bit bullets and tore the sheets. Your back ached, your head pounded and you were drenched in sweat. You should have been angry, but you weren’t. Because on your face was that for-longer-than-forever love. She’d done nothing for you, yet all you could talk about were her good looks and bright future. He woke you up every night for the next six weeks, but that didn’t matter because you were about him. And you still are. But why?

Because the baby is you – your blood; your flesh; your sinew and spine; your hope; your legacy. So, it didn’t bother you that the baby gave you nothing in return because you knew that a newborn is helpless and weak. And you also knew that babies don’t ask to come into this world.

And God knows we didn’t either. We are his idea. We are his – his face; his eyes; his hands; his touch. Look deeply into the face of a child and you’ll see his likeness. Granted, some may appear to be distant relatives, but they’re not. God has no cousins, only children. We are, incredibly, the body of Christ. And though we may not always act like our Father, there’s no greater truth than this: we are his – unalterably. He loves us - undyingly. There’s nothing that can separate us from the love of Christ. (Rom. 8:38-39) Nothing.

A teacher asked a student in her class one day, “Suppose your mother baked a pie and there were five of you – your parents and three children. What part of the pie would you get?” “A fourth,” replied the boy. “I'm afraid you don't know your fractions,” said the teacher. “Remember, there are five of you.” “Yes, teacher,” said the boy, “but you don't know my mother. Mother would say she didn't want any pie.”

That’s a mother’s love. And that’s God’s love, too. And to demonstrate his love, he gave his one and only Son so that everyone who believes in him will not perish but have eternal life. (John 3:16) Maybe that’s why Jesus, in lamenting over Jerusalem’s abandonment of the faith, would use a mother’s imagery just days before his crucifixion when he cried, “Oh Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones God’s messengers! How often I have wanted to gather your children together as a hen protects her chicks beneath her wings, but you wouldn’t let me.” (Matt. 23:27)

Mummy, mommy, mum or mom; there’s nothing quite like a mother’s love.

Happy Mother’s Day,

Randy

 

 

Grateful

Grateful

During this time, before the first of the famine years, two sons were born to Joseph and his wife, Asenath, the daughter of Potiphera, the priest of On. Joseph named his older son Manasseh, for he said, “God has made me forget all my troubles and everyone in my father’s family.” Joseph named his second son Ephraim, for he said, “God has made me fruitful in this land of my grief.” (Genesis 41:50-52)

Some things just don’t go together, like long-tailed cats and rocking chairs, or bulls in a china shop. And when you combine blessings and bitterness? Well, that mixture doesn't go over very well with God, either. Because when you combine heavenly kindness with earthly ingratitude, you can expect a curdled mess, kind of like adding lemon and milk to your hot tea. Maybe you've sampled it.

Granted, gratitude doesn't come naturally. Self-pity does, instead, along with bellyaches, grumbling, mumbling and complaining. No one has to remind us to offer that kind of stuff. But they don't mix well with the kindness we’ve been given. A spoonful of gratitude is all we need, and Joseph took more than a spoonful, despite the fact that he had every reason to be ungrateful. He’d been abandoned, enslaved, betrayed and estranged. But try as we might to find tinges of bitterness in Joseph’s life, they’re just not there. What we do discover, however, are two dramatic gestures of gratitude: “During this time, before the first of the famine years, two sons were born to Joseph and his wife, Asenath, the daughter of Potiphera, the priest of On. Joseph named his older son Manasseh, for he said, ‘God has made me forget all my troubles and everyone in my father’s family.’ Joseph named his second son Ephraim, for he said, ‘God has made me fruitful in this land of my grief.’” (Gen. 41:50-52)

Child naming is no small responsibility. The name sticks for life. Wherever the child goes, whenever the child is introduced, the parents' decision will be remembered. For instance, what was former Texas Governor, Jim Hogg, thinking when he named his daughter Ima? But most parents go to great efforts to select the perfect name for their children. And Joseph did. These were the days of abundance. God had rewarded Joseph with a place in Pharaoh's court, and a wife for his own home. The time had come to start a family.

Picture it. The young couple is reclining on the couch when Joseph reaches over and pats Asenath's round belly and says, "Honey, I've been thinking about names for our baby." "Oh, Joey, how sweet. I have too. In fact, I bought a name-your-baby book at the grocery store." "Thanks honey, but you won't need it. I’ve already picked out the name." "Okay, what is it?" Asenath asks. "God Made Me Forget." Asenath looks at Joseph, just a little bewildered, and says, "If God made you forget, how can you name him?" "No, that’s the name, Baby; God Made Me Forget." At that point, she probably gave him that look that Egyptian wives always gave their Hebrew husbands and said, "God Made Me Forget? So, every time I call my son, I’m going to say, 'God Made Me Forget'?" She shook her head and tried it out: "'It's time for dinner, God Made Me Forget. Come in and wash your hands, God Made Me Forget.' I don't know, Joseph, but I was thinking something more along the lines of Tut or Ramses.”

"No, Asenath, my mind’s made up. Each time my son's name is spoken, God's name will be praised. God made me forget all the pain and hurt I experienced at the hands of my brothers, and I want everyone to know – I want God to know – that I’m grateful." Apparently, Mrs. Joseph eventually warmed to the idea because at the birth of son number two, she and Joseph called him God Made Me Fruitful. One name honored God's mercy; the other proclaimed his favor. Do you think God noticed Joseph's gesture? A New Testament story provides the answer to that question.

Many centuries later, "Jesus . . . reached the border between Galilee and Samaria. As he entered a village there, ten lepers stood at a distance, crying out, 'Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!'" (Luke 17:11-13) Maybe the men waited for Jesus as he turned a corner. Maybe they appeared from behind a grove of trees, or a bunch of rocks. We don't know how they came, but we know what they yelled: "Unclean!" Unfortunately, their warning was completely unnecessary because their appearance drove people away. Ulcerated skin, truncated limbs, lumpy faces. People avoided lepers. But Jesus pursued them. And when he heard their cry, he told them, "Go, and show yourselves to the priests." (v. 14)

The lepers understood the significance of those particular instructions. Only the priest could reverse the stigma. To their credit, then, the lepers obeyed. And to the credit of Jesus, they were healed. And as they walked, they dropped their crutches and discarded their hoods. Their spines began to straighten, skin began to clear, and smiles began to return. The mass of misery became a leaping, jumping, celebrating chorus of health as Jesus watched them dance their way over the horizon. And then he waited for their return. And he waited.

And he waited. The disciples stretched out on the ground. Others went to look for food. Jesus just stood there. He wanted to hear the reunion stories like, “What did your wife say? How did the kids respond? How does it feel to be healed?” Jesus waited for the ten men to return and say, “Thank you.” But only one of them came back. “One of them, when he saw that he was healed, came back to Jesus, shouting, ‘Praise God, I'm healed!’ He fell face down on the ground at Jesus' feet, thanking him for what he had done. This man was a Samaritan. Jesus asked, ‘Didn't I heal ten men? Where are the other nine? Does only this foreigner return to give glory to God?’" (vv. 15-18) Even Jesus seemed astonished.

You'd think that neither fire nor hail could have kept these former lepers from falling at Jesus' feet. So, where were the other nine? We can speculate. Some were probably too busy to be thankful. They’d planned to come back and say, “Thank you,” but first they needed to find family members, doctors, dogs, cats, and neighbors. They were just too busy. Some were maybe too cautious to be thankful. They guarded against joy, and kept their hopes down. They waited for the other shoe to drop. They waited to read the fine print. They waited to see what Jesus wanted in return. What's too good to be true usually is. They were cautious. Others were too self-centered to be thankful. The sick life was simpler. Now they had to get a job, play a role in society. And others were just too arrogant. They never were that sick. Given enough time, they would have recovered. Besides, to be grateful is to admit to being needy. Who wants to show weakness when you have an image to protect? Too busy, too cautious, too self-centered, and too arrogant.

Too close to home?

If this story is any indication, nine out of ten people suffer from ingratitude. That’s a disease of epidemic proportions. But why? Why the appreciation depreciation? Well, it’s kind of like a flight I was on from Portland to San Diego. I had raced to the gate in hopes of catching an earlier flight, but the airline had already loaded extra passengers on the plane. With all the charm I could muster, I asked the attendant, "Are any seats left?" She looked at her computer screen. "No," she replied, "I'm afraid . . . ," and I just knew how she was going to finish the sentence: "I'm afraid you'll have to catch your original flight," which was going to be significantly delayed – possibly into the next morning. But that’s not what she said. Instead, she looked up and smiled. "I'm afraid there are no more seats in coach. We’re going to have to bump you up to first class. Do you mind if we do that?" "Do I mind?" So I boarded the plane and nestled down in the wide seat with the extra legroom. Color me thankful.

But not every passenger was as appreciative. A fellow across the aisle from me was angry because he had only one pillow. With the attendants scrambling to lock the doors and prepare for departure, he was complaining about poor customer service. "I paid extra to fly first class. I’m accustomed to better attention. I want another pillow!" On the other side of the aisle, I was smiling like a guy who’d just won the lottery without buying a ticket. One passenger grumbled; the other was grateful. The difference? The cranky guy paid his way into first class. My seat was a gift.

Which side of the aisle are you on? If you feel like the world owes you something, brace yourself for a life of sour hours, because you'll never get reimbursed. The sky will never be blue enough; the steak won't be cooked enough; the universe won't be good enough to deserve a human being like you. You'll snap and snarl your way to an early grave. Unfortunately, pride keeps us from being grateful because we think that we don’t get as much as we deserve. The grateful heart, on the other hand, sees each day as a gift. Thankful people focus less on the pillows they lack, and more on the privileges they have.

Just like those lepers, Jesus has cured our leprosy. Sin cankered our souls and numbed our senses. Yet the Man on the path told us we were healed, and, lo and behold, we were. The grateful heart is like a magnet sweeping over the day, collecting reasons for gratitude. A zillion diamonds sparkle against the velvet of your sky every night. “Thank you, God.” A miracle of muscles enables your eyes to read these words and your brain to process them. “Thank you, God.” Your lungs inhale and exhale eleven thousand liters of air every day. Your heart will beat about three billion times in your lifetime. Your brain is a veritable electric generator of power. “Thank you, God.” From the jam on our toast to the milk on our cereal; from the blanket that calms us to the joke that delights us and the warm sun that reminds us of God's love. “Thank you, God.”

Gratitude gets us through the hard stuff. To reflect on your blessings is to rehearse God's accomplishments. To rehearse God's accomplishments is to discover his heart. To discover his heart is to discover not just good gifts but the Good Giver. Gratitude always leaves us looking at God, and away from dread. It does to anxiety what the morning sun does to a valley mist – it burns it up. Join the ranks of the 10 percent who give God a standing ovation. "Give thanks for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." (Eph. 5:20)

You don't have to name a child after God, but then again, you could. Or you could draft a letter listing his blessings, or write a song in his honor. You could sponsor an orphan, buy an appliance for a needy family, or adopt a child just because God adopted you. The surest path out of a slump is marked by the road sign that says, "Thank you." But what of the disastrous days? The nights we can't sleep and the hours we can't rest? Grateful then? Well, Jesus was. "On the night when he was betrayed, the Lord Jesus took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it." (1 Cor. 11:23-24)

Not often do you see the words “betrayed” and “thanks” in the same sentence, much less in the same heart. Jesus and the disciples were in the Upper Room. Judas, the traitor, sat in the corner. Impetuous Peter sat at the table. One would soon betray Jesus; the other would soon curse him. Jesus knew that, yet on the night he was betrayed, he gave thanks. In the middle of the darkest night of the human soul, Jesus found a way to give thanks. Anyone can thank God for the light, but Jesus teaches us to thank God for the night. He taught eight-year-old Daniel to do that.

Daniel was born with a double cleft palate, dramatically disfiguring his face. He had surgery, but the evidence of his disfigurement couldn’t be completely hidden. People constantly noticed the difference and occasionally made remarks. Daniel, however, was totally unfazed. He just tells people that God made him that way so what's the big deal? Because of his attitude, attendance and grades, he was named student of the week at school and was asked to bring something to show his classmates for show-and-tell. Daniel told his mom he wanted to take the pictures that showed his face prior to the surgery. His mom was a bit concerned. "Won't that make you feel a little funny?" she asked. But Daniel insisted. "Oh no, I want everybody to see what God did for me!"

So, try Daniel's defiant joy and see what happens. God has handed you a cup of blessings. Sweeten it with a heaping spoonful of gratitude. "Let me introduce you to my sons," Joseph would tell people. "Come here, God Made Me Forget and God Made Me Fruitful. Oh, what? Where did I get those names? Well, have a seat, and let me tell you what God did for me."

Gratitude can turn common days into thanksgivings, routine jobs into joy, and change ordinary opportunities into blessings.

Grace,

Randy