Page 3 - Mentor Writing

When the Chef Cut His Finger

Tuesday, February 21, 2012 by Karen Mains

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the every day occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:

I found three journals hidden away behind a stack of books in the bookcases in my home study. In one of them I had recorded an incident. The date and location is noted as “November 7, 1995/Battle Green Inn, Danvers, MA.”

David and I had gone to eat in Concord, Massachusetts at a historic fire station that was now a restaurant. We were ushered to a table for two by the hostess who was wearing a trim black skirt, and although we were engaged in conversation with each other, we both noted after a while that it was taking a long time for anyone to come and say, “How can I serve you?”

Finally, our young waitress, obviously harried but attempting to be professional, apologized, “Do you mind waiting? Our chef has been rushed to the hospital…”

Since a pleasant afternoon stretched out before us, that was made all the more pleasant because we had nothing else in particular to do but drive the rental car to Danvers and find our lodging at the King’s Grant Hotel, we felt that we could take our time. The most pressing item in our day was my husband’s hunt for some authentic New England clam chowder.

The menu we were studying was a good one, but unfortunately there was no clam chowder. A printed note to customers informed us that dinner entrées were only served after 5 p.m. It was now around 1:30 in the afternoon—one with a crisis in the kitchen. So we went ahead and ordered—David a steak sandwich, and I a Caesar salad accompanied by a luncheon salmon ravioli.

My notes in the journal read:

A basket of rolls comes. David catches our waitress to remind her about cream for his coffee. Some customers are rather grumpy about the long-delayed service. Some are waiting in line to be seated. But David and I chat and wait (and wait), pleasantly relaxed, and watch the group dynamics in the old fire house, now turned restaurant.

“Do you mind moving to another table?” Our waitress is joined by an older woman we haven’t seen before. The hostess who brought us to the table has disappeared (maybe she is with the chef at the hospital). I remember she wore a trim black skirt. Our table for two, crowded close to the front door, which has been in a drafty spot after all, is now needed to shove together and expand other tables to make room for a larger group. No problem. I began to eye a more roomy and empty table for four. Hurriedly, our waitress stacks our coffee cups on the dinner plates and moves us. Another server who has come from the kitchen moves our basket of dinner rolls and the water glasses (David loses his cream). I take my coat, which I had draped over my shoulders, and fold it on an extra chair. We are promised free dessert for our cooperation.

The waitress appears again, embarrassment crowding her features. “I’m so sorry. We aren’t able to serve the ravioli; the chef has to be present to make the sauce. The only person back in the kitchen is a cook’s intern—or something.” We’re still amiable, after all accidents do happen, although in the corner of my eye I see one party get up from the table and rather grumpily move to the door.

David can still get his steak sandwich. I can have my Caesar salad (all the rolls in the kitchen have been consumed). The Soup of the Day is available (she offers this hopefully); a mushroom with jalapeno-pepper concoction. I order that.

“What happened to the chef?” my husband inquires. “He sliced his finger. It looked pretty bad. There was blood ... everywhere.” I can see the young woman wonders if she should offer this last bit. (We are in a restaurant, after all.)

The Caesar salad and my soup come. The salad is good but dripping in dressing like the leftover at the bottom of the salad bowl I used to love to finish as a child. David and I share the salad and soup, and when his stead sandwich finally comes, I share a few bites of that as well as his curly french fries. Another couple departs in a wave of disapproval.

This is becoming funny. The waitress begins to pause a little each time she passes the table to give us updates on the status of the climate in the kitchen or on the crankiness of the customers she must apologize to, then apologize to again. Our good humor is an anchor for her. The restaurant is emptying. Only a few tables are full, one couple behind us and she has sent back her salad (I know why). Another couple are leaving, but they were served before the chef sliced his finger (not off, I hope!). They have been engrossed in conversation, totally unaware of the KITCHEN DRAMA.

“How’re you holding up?” David asks our waitress when she brings our free dessert—a pear tart and a slice of apple pie with white raisins, then hot coffee. (David has finally received a second pitcher of milk.)

The waitress is confidential; we have become friends. I note the fall sunlight rushing in the door. A little child, “Leah” an adult has called her, takes a shiny red apple out of a basket, then, grandchild-like, begins to spit the skin out on the floor. The grandma beside her says, “Oh, let Grandmother catch that,” and holds out her palm as the child spits the skin of each bite into her hand.

The old CONCORD FIRE STATION sign hangs across one wall, the dark rich wood paneling, brass fixtures, the narrow front room with a half flight of steps leading to a more open room, the face of another waitress peeking at us (word of our congeniality has gotten about back in the crisis kitchen)—all this materiality and life leans as though listening for our server’s answer, “Some people, like you two, are fine; some people are not so fine. I guess I’m just really bummed out by it all.”

David and I share our desserts. We leave a tip of $20.00.

This is a story that became funnier in the telling for the few months we remembered when the chef cut his finger in the kitchen of the Concord Fire Station-turned-restaurant. It was a real-life incident that is the stuff of story-making for any eager storyteller. But in time, we forgot all about it, and the incident no longer lived in the annals of our oral tradition—until ... until I found the journals hidden in the back of my bookcase in my writer’s study. Then I remembered and laughed again and told the story to friends once more. (What is in the rest of the hidden journals?)

I spy God!

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Award-winning author Karen Mains has long had an interest in spiritual formation and the obedient Christian walk. She has written about the God Hunt in her book by the same name, The God Hunt: The Delightful Chase and the Wonder of Being Found. A hardback copy can be ordered from Mainstay Ministries for $10.00 plus $4.95 shipping and handling. Contact Karen at info@mainstayministries.org and she will be happy to autograph a copy for you.

Karen continues to write content for her Christian blog, "Thoughts-by-Karen-Mains." In so doing, she desires to touch the lives of Christian women and men and help them find ways to walk closer with the Lord Jesus Christ. In addition, through silent retreats, spiritual teaching, women’s retreats, Christian vacation opportunities, and other ministry activities, Karen helps each Christian woman and man receive vital spiritual food.

Through her Hungry Souls ministry, Karen serves as a spiritual coach to many Christian women and men, and teaches a mentor-writing class. And, through the Global Bag Project, she is working to develop a network of African women who sew exquisite cloth reusable shopping bags, Africa bags. This microfinance women opportunity helps provide a much-needed sustainable income for struggling African families. For more information on this critically important project, please click here.

For decades, Karen and her husband, David, have served God through religious communications—radio, television, and print publication. The are the co-authors of the Kingdom Tales Trilogy: Tales of the Kingdom, Tales of the Resistance, and Tales of the Restoration. To find many valuable resources for pastors and congregations at the Mainstay Ministries main website, please click here.

Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

(GHS-127)

Three Journals Hidden Away

Monday, February 20, 2012 by Karen Mains

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the every day occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:

During my influenza (sort of) week, I spent one afternoon in my sunny writing study just poking through files, pulling out books I loved when I read them but haven’t read since, and I discovered three writing journals tucked away in the back half of a bookcase shelf.

Writing journals, I thought to myself. I forgot I stored them here during that bout of organizing when I purged every drawer, the storage armoire, and the closet of my office.

Oh dear!—the last entry in the first journal I opened was made February 24, 2004—almost 10 years ago. I had been writing down my thoughts about writing—an exercise in potential pretension, to be sure. Perhaps I felt that my writing in this journal at least was too self-conscious, the effort of a writer attempting to be “writerly.” Perhaps that is why I abandoned the effort.

Near the end of these pages, however, I noted a prayer I had created November 9, 1998. It was quite lovely and my handwriting sort of fit the message. I think I was attempting to record these thoughts for posterity (oh, dear)—the scrawl in my prayer journals (which should all be burned before I die) are for my eyes alone—but this prayer was carefully inscribed.

All things good and
from You
and all things well—

today & again
blessing & sweetness
& near too.

again & again
& tomorrow—
You!
—11/9/98

This prayer would have been lost to me had I not written it in my journal.

I spy God!

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Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

(GHS-126)

We Were There: Alternative Energy at the CSO

Friday, February 17, 2012 by Karen Mains

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the every day occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:

Sometimes there are moments when we know we are in a place where history is being made. We say to ourselves, with a kind of wonder, Whenever anyone refers to this event, we will be able to say, “We were there.”

David and I felt this way last week when we attended a concert at the Chicago Symphony Orchestra (CSO for Chicagoans). This orchestra is recognized as world-class, and if we have enough money (for about a decade we had to drop our season tickets), David, who loves symphonic music, will buy a series of four or five tickets. That puts us on the CSO e-mail list (and the phone list for donation solicitations). When the concerts don’t look as though they will quite fill, David receives an e-mail notice that seats are available for reduced prices.

The concert last week was chosen by my husband because (1) Riccardo Muti, the CSO’s Music Director, was conducting, and we love his work, and (2) one of the pieces being performed is a favorite of David’s: Symphony in D Minor by composer César Franck. The two pieces presented before the intermission were unknown to us: Pacific 231 by Arthur Honegger, and then a 22-minute piece titled Alternative Energy by Mason Bates, whom the program explained was one of two composers-in-residence for the CSO.

If we leave our home in West Chicago at 6:30 p.m. and drive into the city, we miss the rush hour and can be parking our car in the underground Grant Parking Garage some 60 minutes later. A stop to pre-pay our parking ticket, then up the stairs to emerge right at the front doors of the concert hall, generally gives us a good 45 minutes to get ourselves settled in our seats in time to carefully read the notes for the evening’s concert.

I imagined what my husband was thinking when he read this description about Bates’ modern composition (David is not always taken with contemporary symphonic efforts): “Alternative Energy is an ‘energy symphony’ spanning four movements and hundreds of years. Beginning in a rustic Midwestern junkyard in the late nineteenth century, the piece travels through ever greater and more powerful forces of energy—a present day-particle collider, a futuristic Chinese nuclear plant—until it reaches a future Icelandic rain forest, where humanity’s last inhabitants seek a return to a simpler way of life.”

Oh dear, another pretentious attempt to bring some “new” interpretation to classical formulas. The biography mentioned that Bates studied in the Ph.D. program at Berkeley’s Center for New Music and Audio Technologies. This evening was the premiere for this symphonic effort and was written expressly for the CSO. A photo showed a young man (the composer) at Fermilab in May 2011 recording the particle collider, which techno-sound would be included in the second movement with the composer himself running the computer in order to integrate the technology with the orchestra. We noted when the surface of the regular music-stand was replaced with one at least three times its size. How soon would it be until we could get to the Franck in the last half of the evening?

To our amazement, and as emphasized by the rousing “bravos!” of a standing ovation, we seemed to be present at the induction of a modern master’s work if not an actual masterpiece. The atonal, discordant composition we were dreading never materialized. Instead we listened, astounded, as this young composer seamlessly synchronized his modern “junkyard/particle collider/nuclear meltdown/folk fiddler” synthesis in the body of classic symphonic dispositions. We sat at the edge of our seats for 22 minutes and actually said to one another, “I can’t believe we’re here.”

(Well that is one of the reasons we love Muti—his ear for what is possible is exquisite. And after all, the audience of 1886 roundly disapproved of Franck’s D Minor work, falling flat at the premiere—which Muti has devotedly brought back to life during his own conductorial career.)

I wonder how often the God of the Universe orchestrates a moment so pure, so magical, so majestic and takes years—even centuries—to bring the movements all together—stars spangling the heavens in rotations of constellations, weather systems blowing across the continents dropping exquisite ice coatings on the trees or sun-splattered shadows over the gardens, dolphins gladly frolicking in the oceans, an evening conversation with friends so connective that the soul is happy, and we humans say to each other, “Oh, wasn’t that nice?” (NICE!), and we walk away and forget it.

Hey folks! There are alternate energies going on all over the place—divine ones. We need to stop and jump to our feet. We need to shout Bravo! over and over. We need to clap our hands, bang on the chair in front of us, stamp on the ground. We need to realize, witnesses to a masterpiece.

We need to remember all the rest of our lives and to say to one another and ourselves, with gratitude singing in the deepest part of our being, We were there.

I spy God!

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Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

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Remembering What We Already Know...

Thursday, February 16, 2012 by Karen Mains

Remembering What We Already Know: The Labor of Older Theologians

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the every day occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:

What people call “the devotional life” usually infers a discipline of daily reading of Scripture and a time of prayer. That truncated understanding of the meaning of this phrase is annoying to me. First, because I think any spiritual habit can become perfunctory (doing something because we are supposed to, rather than because we love to). Second, this simplistic understanding irritates me because I think mature spirituality consists of an entire life—from morning, through the day, and through the night—should be a “devotional life,” a life given to unremitting devotion. Every moment should be one in which the soul stretches upward. This little rant aside, however, for this purpose of this blog, I’ll lean for a bit into the ordinary usage of this terminology.

I try to read Scripture every morning, think about it and listen to what it has to speak into my life. Most days, I record in my prayer journal, which includes among other things a list of all the ways I’ve seen God intervene on my behalf during the day before, and then I keep one or two books going that are spiritual in their nature—books generally published by religious houses. This year I’m leaning back into the works of older theologians, most of whom are now dead, some of whom long-dead.

I am married to a theologian, after all, who has a library of theological works—few of which I have examined, I am ashamed to admit, after 50 years of marriage. So (though it may seem obvious to some that this should have happened earlier), I am beginning to read the works of men (mostly) who were published 20, 30, 40, even 50 to hundreds of years ago.

I find that the writings of older theologians (because they are using words and phrases and teaching that were used frequently when I was a child growing up in a Christian home, attending conservative churches, and being raised by two parents working in Christian institutions) remind me mostly of things I know but have forgotten to practice somewhere along the way.

This morning I read from the English theologian John Stott, a contemporary evangelical leader who died in 2011. His authorship is vast, but he has written one book titled Life in Christ, which I began reading before Christmas. The book is illustrated with paintings from classical European artists like Rembrandt and Goya and William Holman Hunt.

This morning’s reading was from Colossians 3:22-4:1, which deals with Paul’s instructions to slaves: “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men. … It is the Lord you are serving.” Of course, Dr. Stott’s application is that anything we do should be done for God. He writes:

Similarly, it is possible to sweep a room as if Jesus Christ were going to pay us a visit that day, and we wanted the place to look spick and span for him. A servant girl, who was once asked how she knew she was a converted Christian, replied: “Well, you see, I used to sweep the dust under the mat, but now I don’t.” It is possible to visit somebody else as if Jesus Christ lived there, to type a letter as if Jesus Christ were going to read it, to serve a customer as if Jesus Christ had come shopping that day, and to nurse a patient as if Jesus Christ were in the hospital bed. It is possible to cook a meal as if we were Martha in the kitchen, and Jesus Christ were gong to eat it.

Now, I know this spiritual reality. I was raised on this kind of teaching in the conservative churches of my past. I just have forgotten (for how long?) to practice it.

So this is why I am reading the works of dead theologians—they remind me of what I need to be doing again. This is why I go to church and listen to sermons. Sometimes God just needs to get my attention in a way that does not originate with my own thinking. Someone else needs to speak into what I know to do but am not doing. It is one of the primary ways this God who loves us grabs our attention.

I’ve copied off this section and taped it into my prayer journal. I did the morning tasks with a happy heart though I was cleaning up the basement after the little grandchildren were here last night, scrubbing down that storage cupboard to the left of the kitchen sink, and making a nutritious breakfast shake for myself and my husband—as though I was doing it all for my Lord.

Stott quotes this hymn written by George Herbert, an early-17th-century poet and pastor—one whose work my generation is in danger of forgetting and my adult children’s generation will probably never know:

Teach me, my God and King,
In all things thee to see;
And what I do in anything
To do it for thee.

A man that looks on glass
On it may stay his eye,
Or, if he pleaseth, through it pass
And then the heaven espy.

All may of thee partake,
Nothing can be so mean
Which, with this tincture ‘for thy sake’,
Will not grow bright and clean.

A servant with this clause
Makes drudgery divine;
Who sweeps a room, as for thy laws,
Makes that and the action fine.

This is the famous stone
That turneth all to gold,
For that which God doth touch and own
Cannot for less be told.

I spy God!

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Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

(GHS-124)

Try to Praise the Mutilated World

Wednesday, February 15, 2012 by Karen Mains

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the every day occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:

Sometimes the news and the mayhem of this world are too much. The constant inhumanity of people to people, horrific glimpses into the heart of evil, make me take a deep stabbing breath and wonder, How could anyone do that to a child? Or to a spouse? Or a parent? Reports of world tragedies, of global warning, of greed and plunder, are almost too much to fathom. Oh, if someone would just report on the stories of everyday courage, I think (these slip out once in a while just to assure us that everyone is not a monster—but we don’t hear about them enough). If only we had leaders who modeled civility and kindness and generosity and idealism.

I lie awake at night thinking, I can’t bear it anymore. What will this world be like for my children and my children’s children? Of course, every generation has thought this, but this is my time and these are my fears and anxieties for what appears to be an increasing degradation of our culture and an outrageous American propensity to contribute to the destabilization of the world. I remember a time when we were convinced we were good and brought compassionate goodness wherever we could.

I’ve been rereading Edward Hirsch’s wonderful book How to Read a Poem (And Fall in Love With Poetry), and this work introduced me to the Polish poet Adam Zagajewski, whose poems are often filled, as Hirsch explains, with “moments of spiritual lucidity … transporting us into a realm that is majestic, boundless and unknown.” Zagajewski came to the attention of a shocked and stunned population after the Twin Towers were and the people within them were annihilated by terrorist attacks on 9/11. This poem was printed in The New Yorker 9/13. Sometimes the poet speaks the remedy for mutilation better than the politician or the philosopher.

Try to praise the mutilated world
Remember June’s long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You’ve seen the refugees heading nowhere,
you’ve heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth’s scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the gray feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.

—Adam Zagajewski

This helps a little—and then I wonder, What does God find to give praise for in His mutilated world?

I spy God!

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For decades, Karen and her husband, David, have served God through religious communications—radio, television, and print publication. The are the co-authors of the Kingdom Tales Trilogy: Tales of the Kingdom, Tales of the Resistance, and Tales of the Restoration. To find many valuable resources for pastors and congregations at the Mainstay Ministries main website, please click here.

Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

(GHS-123)

Watching DVDs During the Daytime

Tuesday, February 14, 2012 by Karen Mains

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the every day occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:

“Yes, we’re going to be decadent,” I explained to a younger friend. “We are going to watch a movie tomorrow morning, and you and your wife are invited for breakfast and to join us.”

“Why decadent?” he asked.

“Well, we’re all going to sit there, watch the movie and think guiltily about not being at work.”

So we initiated a movie-watching morning with these friends (all involved in ministry where evenings and afternoons and before work meetings) Our pastor recommended the film Lars and the Real Girl, which I had seen but David had not, but it was our first movie-morning choice. I didn’t realize what an incredible film this was until I observed it with others—something about that group process—it was funny and quaint and poignant and deeply meaningful, but mostly it was movingly humane. Our lively discussion afterwards brought to light intriguing aspects I had not even considered. I’ve been thinking about Lars and the Real Girl ever since.

Having arranged our schedules after the holidays, having headed into the new year with organizational resolves settled, David and I hosted the next movie morning. I picked one of my favorites from the 2011 movie panoply, Winter’s Bone, which I thought was an amazing plunge into the meth culture in the Missouri backwaters. It was given an Academy Award nod, but because it was a little-promoted indie film, not many people have seen it. Another friend, whose husband is a theologian, helped me detect that a theme (maybe intended, but probably not) of common revelation ran through the entire piece.

Our pastor and his wife love film, as do we. David and I feel we can’t have a significant dialogue with members of this sight-and-sound culture unless we can discuss the current language people are using. Ask the question, “See any good movies lately?” and you are immediately invited into conversation with most people. Our intent is to view films that have moral meaning and to hone our critical talents for observation and discussion purposes.

So, after my weekend bout with influenza, I checked the supplies Tuesday evening and discovered I had everything I needed for breakfast for our movie group (now expanded by the two we invited at the last minute). Without a store run, I could make apple pancakes, fried eggs and bacon. The dining-room table is always set for six.

We had a lovely morning. I had help at the grill; laughter and great exchange sparked our time around the breakfast table. Then down to the basement, where four of us viewed the movie for the first time. We were all overwhelmed by the tale, the 17-year-old heroine Ree Dolly, who one reviewer called the most remarkable heroine in contemporary American literature, and by the aesthetic qualities of the movie. It has a 95% critical-approval rating online at Rotten Tomatoes.

Our conversation, personally evocative and far-ranging, ended only because David (the recovering workaholic) reminded us that we needed to get on with the day.

“I see what you mean by decadent…” said my friend. I had meant “decadent” in that we were not at work. Yet we were working, we decided, working to find the meaning behind the obvious, watching through film as a teenager called her subculture to the moral values they all held in common and had lost as they degenerated beneath the persuasions and imprisonments of a methadone-driven economy. Ree Dolly has a father who has jumped bail, has put the inherited house and land she lives in with her two dependant siblings and her psychologically disturbed mother up for surety. She has a week to find him or this fragile family will lose everything, inevitably becoming homeless.

We take care of our own, don’t we? Ree asks, persistently. Don’t ask for what should be given. We’re blood kin and that counts for something, don’t it?

Common moral codes and general revelation. Something built into each heart by the God who marks each human with his image. A divine certainty built into the heart of 17-year-old Ree Dolly. During this second viewing I was amazed at the power of spoken truth.
As the black-and-white film panned the craggy features of the characters (many local folk and not actors), I felt an unaccountable mercy and compassion for those caught in the downward spiral of lostness wherever it occurs. This certainly must be how God feels about us all.

All the music in the film—at least what I noticed—were gospel songs. Truth is hidden in the moral meaning of our understanding, whether we live with it, depart from it, betray it or pay attention to it. Somewhere in the background it is singing to us. If we just will notice. God is love.

Here’s to movie mornings and to the Hollywood that sometimes says more, much more than it knows, and to the God who slips meaning into our living every chance He gets.

I spy God!

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Award-winning author Karen Mains has long had an interest in spiritual formation and the obedient Christian walk. She has written about the God Hunt in her book by the same name, The God Hunt: The Delightful Chase and the Wonder of Being Found. A hardback copy can be ordered from Mainstay Ministries for $10.00 plus $4.95 shipping and handling. Contact Karen at info@mainstayministries.org and she will be happy to autograph a copy for you.

Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

(GHS-122)

Sick Days

Monday, February 13, 2012 by Karen Mains

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the every day occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:

Despite getting a flu shot, I came down with what seems to be going around in the influenza category. Oh, not the head cold, sinus infection, runny nose, sneezing and coughing category; nor the digestive track, vomiting and running to the bathroom category; but the achy, weary (is-this-a-vitamin-or-iron-deficiency?) category.

Starting with Friday night, I took to bed and slept and slept and slept (14 hours that night, then another 12 hours the next day!). I dragged myself downstairs, weakly impelled my concerned husband to fetch tea, Dayquil and Nyquil tablets, the morning newspaper, and the heating pad.

However, I definitely was not at the I-think-I-may-die stage; it was more the “how-tired-and-muscle-sore-can-a-body-get stage. Somewhere soon after self-diagnosis and the conclusions (“I’m not going to get the Christmas stuff packed away in the attic this weekend; I’m not going to make it to church; I’m not going to make it into the office today”), I thought, Oh, how lovely! I can spend wakeful time just telling God how much I love Him—not enough of that in my life. AND—I can read! YEAH!

Truthfully, sometimes sick days are the best thing that can happen to us.

So, this is what I did do:

1. I really had the time to love God and thank Him for scheduling this unplanned break, which of course was not on my calendar.

2. I sat in the sun, which in February in winter in Chicago is not all that frequent an opportunity—particular since our Mainstay offices are on the interior of our building, with no outside views.

3. I read three books by Imre Kertész, the Hungarian Jewish author and winner of the 2002 Nobel Prize in Literature. I had bought these books in May 2011 while in Budapest: Fatelessness, Kaddish for an Unborn Child and Detective Story.

4. I finished reading The Power of Unreasonable People: How Social Entrepreneurs Create Markets That Change the World by John Elkington and Pamela Hartigan.

5. I listened to the first three discs of His Excellency, a biography of George Washington, which David received as a white-elephant Christmas gift.

6. I sat in the sun in my south-facing home study and reviewed the notes in my past writing study.

7. I started reading John Polkinghorn’s Quantum Physics and Theology: An Unexpected Kinship. Underlined pertinent observations.

8. I canceled a joint birthday outing with my sister but exchanged e-mails and photos of our grandchildren.

9. I reread some well-loved poetry Mysticism for Beginners by Polish writer Adam Zagajewski. I loved the poem “A Flame,” since we have been dialoguing about the aging process (observing ourselves as we age)…

God, give us a long winter
   and quiet music, and patient mouths,
      and a little pride—before
         our age ends.
Give us astonishment
   and a flame, high, bright.

10. I texted my teen grandsons (I learned to text so I can keep up with them).

11. I slept with the heating pad, remembering that I love solitary days without schedules, whole days set aside for thinking and listening. Slept some more.

12. I pulled out my Gregorian chant CDs and filled the house with this ancient worship music.

13. I looked out the windows at the melting snow, watched the sunset at the end of the days and felt the night creep on. Looked some more.

I cannot tell you how centered I felt, how close and at home I came to the core of my being, how replete with God, how satisfied with the world and my life, how reminded that I love to write but that much of writing is this thinking process, this listening to one’s self and the God who whispers in the silence through the beauty of words and ideas and stillness. And that I have not have had enough time to listen deeply, that I have gotten out of the habit. I ended my sick days replete, full, satisfied, spiritually renewed and mentally massaged.

Thank God for sick days. I think I should schedule a few in each month.

I spy God!

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Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

(GHS-121)

Indigestion

Friday, February 3, 2012 by Karen Mains

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the every day occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:

Several years back I learned that I had developed a hiatal hernia, a condition in the digestive system where a hernia balloons out of the stomach wall. This often creates discomfort for me, but I have learned that I can control the situation without medicine if I am careful with what I eat.

• No big meals in the evening unless I’ve eaten almost nothing else during the day.

• Small portions.

• Don’t sit too much in any position that cramps the stomach (economy seating in airplanes are the worst; I disembark slightly crippled and very uncomfortable).

• Not too much bread. Not too much meat.

• Small portions (oh, I said that already, didn’t I?)

• Plenty of fresh food—fruits and vegetables.

This diet is actually a lot like the one recommended by Michael Pollan in his little booklet Food Rules, where he maintains that there are basically three rules that comprise healthy eating: Eat food (and by this simple command he means real food, not over-processed, highly manufactured pretend food). Not too much. Mostly plants.

When I follow the rules, I feel less discomfort, forget that I have a hiatal hernia, and when I forget and eat badly, I suffer. No one else is responsible for my discomfort. This is totally under my control. I just have to learn to be intentional about how I eat.

The same truth exists for all of life. There are certain rules we must follow if we want to be healthy. Our bodies are strongest and function best when we get enough exercise every week. Human relationships are kept strong when we forgive and accept one another. Love for ourselves, for one another, for the world around us and for the God who made it all covers a multitude of sins.

When we disobey the established wisdom of the ages and the discoveries of modern science that also add to our body of accumulated knowledge, well, then we suffer. And no one else is responsible for our suffering but ourselves. Others can bring us pain—to be sure, this is true, but it is how we choose to respond, whether we will turn the other cheek, go the extra mile, establish proper boundaries, remove ourselves from toxic situations that determine whether the suffering they have brought into our lives will endure or heal.

There are also rules for finding God in our everyday world. We must seek Him, pay attention, put ourselves into quiet, spend time in His written Word, learn from spiritual masters. Keeping a record of His daily intervention helps us to remember. Telling others what delightful intervention he brought into our life is a way of concretizing the divine event.

When people say to me, “God doesn’t answer my prayers. He’s not there,” I often ask, “And how much do you pray? Have you listened to what He has said after you have pleaded with Him to help you? Is your life honoring to Him in other ways—do you seek to live a life of devotion?” In other words, have you been following the rules that exist to create a healthy spiritual life?

This hiatal hernia is forcing me to keep to the rules of healthy eating. Really good things can come of following the rules.

I spy God!

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Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

(GHS-120)

Tango Class

Thursday, February 2, 2012 by Karen Mains

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the every day occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:

My son, Jeremy, and my daughter-in-law, Angela, gave me a tango lesson for my 69th birthday. “Mom,” he informed me, “Angela and I went to a tango class last week. There’s a new studio in town right across from the library. Why don’t you come with me and see if you like it? That will be your birthday gift.”

Well, how could I refuse? Though I am rhythmically challenged, my rule of thumb is: If your adult kids invite you to go anywhere, do everything you can to fit it into the schedule.

So last Monday night Jeremy and I parked in front of La Yunta Milonga (The Tango Argentina Club) in downtown West Chicago, Illinois on West Washington St. The irony of all this is that our town is more than 60% Hispanic and tango is not really a Mexican cultural dance. The core of our community is really working-class. Somehow, a Tango Argentina Club didn’t quite fit the taquerias and Mexican bakeries that fill our town. My son and his wife can dance salsa, meringue, and swing, so why not tango. This Monday night was for “Guided Practice,” explains the little card I was handed that reads, “La Yunta Milonga: a beautiful place for beautiful people.” We would learn to dance the tango with the owners Ruben (from Argentina) and Maria (from France) showing us the dancing ropes.

Jeremy, who was voted the best dancer in his high-school class, was as much a novice as I. So just submitting to the fact that I was going to be awful, I attempted to take their guidance to heart. Ruben taught us in Spanish with his wife translating into English. (Later, Jeremy, who teaches Spanish at Wheaton College, informed me that she, in her delightful way, basically said what she wanted to say and didn’t give a literal translation of her husband’s instructions. I did notice that he said “bueno” whenever she finished, so I think there was kind of a collaboration of agreement between the two.)

In my first tango lesson I learned: The man must lead; you brush your thighs as you walk; you back up (for the woman) in a straight line; that you must relax; you must keep your right elbow bent stiffly so your partner can guide you; and it will take quite a few walking lessons for me to get the hang of it.

At 8 o’clock, the lights were lowered, the music was turned on, several other people arrived for the dancing hour and Maria assigned me to a gentleman with the words, “She is just learning tango.” So this stranger and I began moving around the floor. Amazingly, I found myself in step, making turns, crossing my ankles to twist forward, twist back—all under his guidance. When I made a misstep and apologized, I said, “I’m thinking too much. I need just to relax and move.”

“Don’t apologize,” the man said, who I was realizing was an excellent dancer. “It is up to me to get you where I want you to go.”

Because I am a writer, one of the things I have learned to do is live life metaphorically. A metaphor is an application of a word or figure of speech to a concept it does not literally denote in order to suggest comparison to another object or concept. Living life metaphorically means that I attempt to draw out meaning beneath or beside the meaning.

A good dancing partner is an excellent illustration of what it is like to step in time to the rhythm of life with God, whose responsibility is to get us where it is He wants us to go. Now, we have the choice as humans, to refuse to dance altogether, if we like. We can “sit this one out” and we can refuse to cooperate by barn-dancing when we should be attempting to tango. There are rules we must follow if we are going to look good and get the best benefit of the guided practice. We must walk backward in a straight line; we must keep our elbow bent firmly so our Partner can guide us. But basically, the rhythm and beauty and timing of our dancing activity is a matter of following the Divine Dancing Partner.

I was amazed at the Tango Argentina Club on Monday night last (a 69th-birthday gift) by how beautifully I performed when I danced with someone who knew what he was doing. Perhaps we all should learn to pray, Lord, what kind of dance is it that You want me to dance today? And then we should learn to follow His lead.

I spy God!

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Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

(GHS-119)

Bartering Competencies

Wednesday, February 1, 2012 by Karen Mains

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the every day occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:

One of the joys of my life is bartering competencies. A friend gives me a couple hours of help with the delayed projects in my life, and I gladly exchange that I have to give—a hard earned spiritual wisdom that has developed through fifty-some years of ministry that has stimulated an intentional growth walk with the Lord.

Since the place I feel neglect the most in my life is in the area of material repair, I am always deeply touched to have anyone lend me a hand working my way through the pile of “to-do’s”—those projects that seem to elude me and grow in the night, or so it seems.

So before Christmas, my friend stitched up fabric I purchased on sale a couple summers back for the table in the basement over which I tossed that hand-embroidered cloth my Yugoslavian friend gave me, saying, “This is very old.” Both the antique cloth and the contrasting check-skirt looked wonderful for a holiday table.

In return, my helping friend choose books from my spiritual growth library, which I need to make sure we discuss when she is done and brings them back.

This Christmas, the grandchildren filled each others’ stockings. I pulled three large stockings we had never used out of the storage box; they were great for three of the five children (stocking stuffers seem to grow bigger by the year), but I decided we needed two more oversize stockings for the coming Christmas season of 2012. A drawer in the guest bedroom holds fabric I’ve purchased just because I like it and can’t resist the bargain table. One pattern in particular felt like a good contrast to the three I had purchased. My friend took that to make us two more large Christmas stockings, and I guided her to the section on spiritual direction in my library where she could seek some answers to questions she raised on that topic.

Now that I think about it, I am certain that I am receiving more in this barter than I am giving and need to make sure that this exchange of competencies is even, that our spiritual dialogue is as valuable to my friend as her practical kindnesses are to me.

However, this all makes me think that much of life is a matter of giving to one another out of our strengths and receiving from one another for our weaknesses. Every local church needs to set up an exchange where the body can barter competencies—except with God. His strength is always there for us. As far as bartering competencies is concerned, with God it is always a matter of us being on the receiving end.

“O Lord, my strength and my stronghold,
My refuge in the day of trouble,
To thee shall the nations come
From the ends of the earth…” (Jeremiah 16:19)

And in this exchange of our weakness for His strength, we become acquainted with His mercy. “Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we have not a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”

I spy God!

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For decades, Karen and her husband, David, have served God through religious communications—radio, television, and print publication. The are the co-authors of the Kingdom Tales Trilogy: Tales of the Kingdom, Tales of the Resistance, and Tales of the Restoration. To find many valuable resources for pastors and congregations at the Mainstay Ministries main website, please click here.

Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

(GHS-118)

Remembering With Grandsons

Tuesday, January 31, 2012 by Karen Mains

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the every day occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:

Last week, I spent my birthday with our Phoenix family. Our eldest son, Randall, his wife Carmel and their two sons, Landis age 16 and Nathanael age 15, have lived away from the Chicago area long enough for the boys not to remember what it was like living through a Midwestern season of snow. They do remember, however, and love to reiterate all the memories they have of spending time with my husband and myself, with Papa and Nina.

It surprises me a little—though I don’t know why it should—how many of our conversations begin with the question, “Nina, do you remember when we…?” Actually, this has been one of our major goals. We have sought to build a rich memory infrastructure for the architecture that is becoming their lives.

So we talk about the time in Boston when Pap got navigating a roundabout and the GPS kept telling him to turn just a fraction later than he needed the information: “Wrong turn. Recalibrating.” We drove round and round about seven times with Papa getting more frustrated and the two grandkids on that trip giggling in the back seat.

We’ve hauled them up to the Shakespeare Festival in Stratford, Ontario, parceled them out on cruises to pick up the extra-guest fee—$99 per person if they will sleep in your stateroom—two grandkids on the Alaska cruise, two more on the Maritime Provinces cruise. We took a quick, quick tour through the Niagara Falls area, did a short vacation to Branson (and endured one of those awful timeshare sales lectures), stayed at my sister’s cabin in North Carolina for gem-mining, trout fishing, and whitewater rafting.

We replace the memory stones that have fallen (No, no, no. That was in Paris and the lady’s name was…). What one forgets (usually me being the one), the other remembers.

This little exercise, which happens whenever we have time to be together, reminds me of how frequently God tells his people to remember. “This day shall be a day of remembrance for you.” Piles of stones were stacked in the wilderness. Solemn assemblies commemorated events. A yearly cycle of festivals ensured that special days and remarkable divine interventions were enthroned in the memory of the Hebrew people. “You shall celebrate it as a festival to the Lord; throughout your generations you shall observe it as a perpetual ordinance.” Exodus 12:14.

God, in case some of you don’t know, is a good-memory-maker. Like my grandsons, He says to me over and over, Karen, do you remember when I made you laugh, when you had just enough money to meet the payment deadline, the day I protected or loved or enfolded you? Of course, my human aptitude for forgetting (how is your aptitude for forgetting?) is more the default mode than the one for remembering and rejoicing. As an aid, some 40 years ago, I began to keep a record of all the times God has intervened for the good in my life.

I make a habit of going over those notebooks, looking back through the pages and the years and saying, “God, do You remember when we…” And consequently, though inclined to forget, because of this tall, tall stack of journals, I too remember.

“Yes, I remember when…”

I spy God!

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Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

(GHS-117)

Clutching Toys

Monday, January 30, 2012 by Karen Mains

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the every day occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:

I snapped up a plastic refrigerator sack of little toy animals for my grandson Neeham (Nehemiah), who is two years old. This $3.75 was one of my best purchases because Neeham invariably digs into the bag and comes us with a clutch of animals to play with and to carry around wherever he goes in our house.

Though the fistful of toys may be Neehan’s version of a security blanket, it does present some problems:

First, he cannot pick up anything else, not even more dinosaurs, snakes, fish or crabs (this is the sea-animal bag). If he tries, some inevitably drop to the floor though he attempts to retrieve them (leaving another turtle that doesn’t quite make it). This is a source of frustration to Neeham, who sometimes resorts to (dare I name it?) temper tantrums.

Next, it is impossible to pull a coat over Neeham’s full and clenched fist. We attempt to pry the little fingers open, explaining that we are just putting his coat on and that he can have the toys back. “No,” he protests. “Mine!” In fact, I am reminded by this repeated drama by our front door that the wearing of winter coats is more of an adult’s concern than it is a two-year-old’s.

Last, this greedy security habit of my grandson’s is fast depleting the plastic bag of water-loving miniatures. Of course, again, this is more my concern than it is Neeham’s. Supply and demand is an adult’s prerogative. Little children don’t worry about what they will play with when the source of toys is gone.

How often God attempts to pray open our clutched fists. He has something richer to give us, something to warm us against the cold, something more exciting to put in our hands to replace the snakes and other creepy-crawly creatures.

Yet, our proprietorship is firmly established. “Mine!” we announce, clutching more tightly and clenching our fists to our chest. But the truth is, we’ve become too old to carry “dinosaurs” in our hands. We need to move beyond the childlike stages of spiritual maturity. Better pay attention to the Grandma at the front door. My lifelong experience in clutching things too tightly is that if we don’t let go of our well-loved playthings when God asks them of us, we may force Him to find a harsher means to convince us that we best let go.

So. What is it you are clutching in your tiny fists? Is God asking you to let go? He needs to pull on that winter coat to protect you from the blows and windstorms of misfortune. He can see into your future and has a reason for asking for your fistful of clutched toys. This secret I have also learned (hold it to your heart): Our Heavenly Grandparent never takes away something from us without replacing it (eventually) with something better.

Pay attention.

I spy God!

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Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

(GHS-116)

Hungry for You

Friday, January 20, 2012 by Karen Mains

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the every day occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:

As is my habit, at the New Year I review the journal I am in working on and the one before it. It is easy to forget one’s life. I made entrances in the columns of the prayers that have been answered, and I enter into that full and replete feeling at the record of God’s interaction in my everyday life.

I came upon this chorus I had copied in case I needed it for my writing. I record it here because it was the prayer for last year and the year before and the year before that. I record it in case you need a prayer for 2012. It is a good prayer.

“We Are Hungry”

Lord, I want more of You.
Living water rain down on me.
Lord, I need more of You.
Living breath of life, come fill me up.

We are hungry, we are hungry,
We are hungry for more of You.
We are thirsty, Oh, Jesus,
We are thirsty for more of You.

Lord, I want more of You.
Holy Spirit, rain down on me.
Lord, I need more of You.
Living breath of life, come fill me up.

We are hungry, we are hungry,
We are hungry for more of You.
We are thirsty, Oh, Jesus,
We are thirsty for more of You.

We lift our holy hands up.
We want to touch You
We lift our vices, higher
And higher and higher to You.

We are hungry, we are hungry,
We are hungry for more of You.
We are thirsty, Oh, Jesus,
We are thirsty for more of You.

I spy God!

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Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

(GHS-115)

First Snow

Thursday, January 19, 2012 by Karen Mains

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the every day occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:

Last week the Chicago area had its first seasonal snowfall. This may be an absolute record in the annals of our particular geographic weather history. The reports on how much snow were variable—some said we had 3-4 inches; some said we had six to eight. After the snowplow cleared our circle driveway at 5:30 a.m. on Friday morning, I shoveled our seven-foot brick-walk that leads from the front door to the gravel drive. According to estimates made from thrusting my red snow shovel into a mound off by the front walk, we had from six to eight inches of snow for the first fall.

The weather here in the greater Chicago area has been, to use the parlance, unseasonably warm. Last year we had a snowfall mid-November, and more and more snowfalls until at least two feet of snow was piled upon itself. The snowplow cleared our driveway seven times last year, and the snow did not melt until April. Two days before our first snowfall, January 12, 2012, the thermometers read 47 degrees in the western suburbs.

So we began preparing ourselves as we Midwesterners are programmed to do with storm warnings. Is there enough provision in the house in case we can’t get to the store for a couple of days? Do we have the fold-up portable shovel in the back of the trunk? Have we made sure our house (driveway really) is on the snow-plowers’ list?

I had a funny phone call: “Paul,” I said to the man who owns the snowplow service up our lane, “the weather has been so good, I neglected to call you and ask you to put us on your list.” “Now, who are you?” he asked. “I’ve just had a hip operation. I’m in the hospital. They replaced my hip.” Nevertheless, he had arranged for a surrogate driver to cover the driveways in our little loop and somehow he did—groggy as he was—get our name on the list. Snowplowing is a serious commitment.

David and I had invited friends to go to the Chicago Symphony Orchestra concert on the 12th of January, and we made reservations for dinner at the Russian Tea Time restaurant before the eight o’clock performance. This restaurant is just around the corner from Orchestra Hall; on concert nights, it usually empties like clockwork at 7:45. First snow or not, this is an occasion hardy Chicagoans do not cancel simply because weather warnings are being broadcast on radio and on television.

Our only question was: Should we take the Metra into the city, or risk it and drive during the first snowfall, at rush hour? My call was to take the train. David, however, loves that when we drive, we can park in the underground parking, which shoots us up a stairway right in front of the Orchestra Hall doors. Driving means we also don’t have to get to and from the train station, some eight blocks away; nor do we have to wait an hour or so for the next-to-the last commuter train to the western suburbs.

So drive we did, and in driving, we noticed the snowplows already blowing mounds of snow beside driveways and sidewalks. Cautiously, our friend steered his four-wheel-drive SUV through back streets and by ways to quickly hook up to a major artery going into the city. Hm-m-m-m. The streets weren’t so bad—we’re all hardy Midwesterners, you know. Most of us know how to drive cautiously in new-fallen snow. And many workers, at news of snowfall, had left their offices early. The expressways moved fast and we actually arrived at the underground parking with plenty of spots to choose from, close to the Jackson Street exit, and right on the minute to honor our dinner reservation.

Br-r-r-r-r-r. Of course, the temperature had dropped below 20 degrees. We bundled ourselves up against the wet, soft, white snow falling in our hair, laughed about all the little kids out on the streets with their Christmas-gift sleds, noticed a darling young mother shoveling her walk and towing a little toddler stuffed in a snowsuit on a sled behind her. We had a wonderful dinner, shared stories, laughed at our own foibles. The Chicago Symphony sound was lush and wondrous and reached, as usual, parts of the soul in the listener it is hard to explain to people who don’t understand or love classical music.

“First snow,” we said to the volunteers who held the doors for us as we entered and exited the Hall. “Yep!” they said. “We knew it would eventually get here.”

“First snow,” I said to the homeless woman selling Streetwise, the paper they publish that helps to support their needs. “Yes,” she replied. “First snow. Have a good night.”

Instead of turning left out of the parking garage, we turned right, intending to cruise down Michigan Avenue and catch a glimpse of the Christmas lights still in the trees shining through the blanket that now covered the cement flower troughs the city has built in the middle of the Avenue. Snow piled on the bridge spanning the Chicago River, on the ledges of buildings, and spread itself all over the ground.

“Oh,” we all exclaimed. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Yes, it is. Despite the discomforts. Despite the blowing cold. Despite the hazards of slippery, unexpected falls or of car crashes, it is beautiful. Indeed, it is.

Though your sins be like scarlet, they shall be white as snow. I remembered this Scripture from Isaiah 1:18. But even biblically illiterate people see what I see. Ugly holes are covered by the first snow. Bare branches and breaks in the cement are hidden. The world is wound together in a bundling of white.

Though we hasten to home and safety (and to those provisions of food), every single one of us is in a kind of celebratory mood. Everyone sees that the ugliness around is covered, not to be noticed for as long as the snow stays on the ground, on the fences, on the paths in the wintered forests. There is a common metaphor here that reaches into the heart even of the unbeliever, the cynical, the twisted pervert, or the neglectful, inward-obsessed narcissist.

The world is white again. God has breathed His breath to cover us. First snow!

I spy God!

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Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

(GHS-114)

Some Thoughts on My Sixty-Ninth Birthday

Wednesday, January 18, 2012 by Karen Mains

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the every day occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:

Turning 69 today, with a husband who is 75, has forced an unending round of discussions on the aging process. We are determined to traverse these years left to us as well as possible.

I do not want to bore people with a litany of aches and ills. I do not want to hear myself saying (as so many of my aged friends say), “It’s no fun growing old.”

David and I want to age with grace, laughing through the years that come, accepting the physical and mental disabilities as a gift to keep our human demise before our eyes in a way that is anticipatory, not morbid.

So when I self-diagnosed the numbness and pain in my feet that activates whenever I wear the wrong shoes as Morton’s neuroma, I acquiesced to the fact that aging inevitably brings its own physical limitations. “It is what it is,” I remind myself.

A day getting the house ready and cooking for guests causes me to hobble around like I have a couple of marbles taped to the pad of my foot beneath my second and third toes—on both feet. High heels, obviously, are out.

“Aren’t you ever going to wear heels again?” asked David. No, I explained, I would not be wearing heels probably ever again. “Just pray that I don’t end up wearing a pair of orthopedic shoes.”

Obviously, I am responsible for the care of my feet. So, I make sure that any shoe I wear is ultra-comfortable, and doesn’t—in any way—pinch my toes. I buy padded lifts and slip them into shoes and I never, never walk far unless I am wearing a good pair of walking shoes that absorbs the impact of flesh on pavement. I have learned to be careful when trekking over uneven terrain.

This summer, on a 50th Wedding Anniversary trip to Italy, observing all the above precautions, we walked miles every day without the Morton’s neuroma acting up, crippling me and forcing me to spend a day in a hotel room off-itinerary. Maybe the ugly orthopedic shoes aren’t such a sure thing after all.

The other morning, however, during a prayer time, I had a totally unexpected thought. Why didn’t I use the stepping-on-marbles like pain as a reminder of the wounds of Christ? Why, when I was forced to take off a shoe because of aching feet, didn’t I intentionally remember that nails were pounded through His feet as He was impaled to the Cross. Certainly, as He pressed down against them in order to force His torso upward so His cramped lungs could suck in air, the nail-holes tore and worried the flesh and ligaments. Why didn’t I transform this minor discomfort on my own aging process into an intercessory remembrance of how Christ suffered and of how others suffer in the world?

So I have been attempting to do this work. Unlike St. Francis and other remarkable saints, I have never prayed for the stigmata, actual wounds in the flesh that come from intense and close identification with His death and suffering, but I can do this. I can look at this sometime discomfort as a gift.

Perhaps I have discovered a path forward to deal better with the inevitable signs of old age that will bring me joy in the process of physical decline.

God is in all things, even these thoughts on my 69th birthday.

I spy God!

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For decades, Karen and her husband, David, have served God through religious communications—radio, television, and print publication. The are the co-authors of the Kingdom Tales Trilogy: Tales of the Kingdom, Tales of the Resistance, and Tales of the Restoration. To find many valuable resources for pastors and congregations at the Mainstay Ministries main website, please click here.

Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

(GHS-113)

Travel Funds

Tuesday, January 17, 2012 by Karen Mains

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the every day occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:

I spent a couple of weeks putting together a letter asking for travel funds for three of us who plan to visit the Global Bag Project, our work where a handful of Kenyan women are lifting themselves out of poverty by sewing lovely, artisan African bags. The project is at a crucial growth stage, and although I would like just to apply the travel funds toward their fabric purchases and their salaries, ten days spent together hugely encourages them, generates all kinds of product ideas and business plans, and keeps the stateside crew pumped for about six months!

Since my husband and I and our Global Bag Project Director have traveled to Africa about 11 times in the last five years, we have drained our personal resources and do need to look to friends to contribute to the travel fund.

You can imagine our wonder when a film project David and I had been talking about with another organization actually came through for the exact time we were planning to be in Kenya for a shoot!

This means our airfare, and half of our land fee, will be covered, and now all I have to do is raise land expense for two for the weeks we aren’t shooting!

When we teach people how to go on the God Hunt, we recommend they look for unusual evidences of God’s care. This certainly is an immediate example of that out of our personal experience. Not only do we love this kind of work since we were in the media industries for over 20 years and regret that we are not able to use our expertise in that field much, but the provision of the budget means is always a sign to us of God’s green light to involve ourselves in a project. When He doesn’t want us heading in certain directions, He just closes down the financial means!

With full and grateful hearts, we will be in pre-production planning on this film adventure for the next two months—grateful to be chosen. In addition, the funds will allow us to visit the Global Bag Project sewing sites, interact with our friends, and make joint plans for the future growth of the GBP development project.

Thank you, God. I spy You!

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Award-winning author Karen Mains has long had an interest in spiritual formation and the obedient Christian walk. She has written about the God Hunt in her book by the same name, The God Hunt: The Delightful Chase and the Wonder of Being Found. A hardback copy can be ordered from Mainstay Ministries for $10.00 plus $4.95 shipping and handling. Contact Karen at info@mainstayministries.org and she will be happy to autograph a copy for you.

For decades, Karen and her husband, David, have served God through religious communications—radio, television, and print publication. The are the co-authors of the Kingdom Tales Trilogy: Tales of the Kingdom, Tales of the Resistance, and Tales of the Restoration. To find many valuable resources for pastors and congregations at the Mainstay Ministries main website, please click here.

Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

(GHS-112)

Cancellations

Monday, January 16, 2012 by Karen Mains

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the every day occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:

We had a cancellation in our schedule this week—a standing Wednesday-morning appointment. Generally, when this happens, (no matter who cancels), David and I are glad. People who cancel are often contrite and apologize, but I truthfully can’t remember when David and I felt insulted or shafted because someone canceled out on us. We generally tell them not to worry and David and I say to one another, “Yeah!” It means we have a free space in the day where there had been no free space the day before.

I had been dancing around the scheduling book of a hairdresser who goes to our church, trying to get my little four-year old granddaughter in for a haircut. Her parents had given her a beauty-parlor kit for Christmas, so like any four-year-old, she took some scissors (not from the kit, of course) and whacked off a chunk of her hair. Angela, my daughter-in-law and Eliana’s mother, did a pretty good job of shaping everything by turning the “whacko” job into a darling bob—but it still needed a professional’s touch to finesse it.

However, Eliana’s schedule didn’t match Nancy, the beautician’s, schedule. So we went into lengthy negotiations.

Tuesday evening, after David and I had received word of the next morning’s cancellation, Nancy called me and said, “Guess what! I had a cancellation for tomorrow morning. Can your granddaughter make that?” I realized Eliana would be at daycare, several towns west of us. But suddenly I had a thought—I needed to get into the beauty parlor myself since I was leaving town to spend my 69th birthday with my eldest son and his family in Phoenix.

“Oh, I’ve just had a cancellation in my schedule,” I thought out loud. “Why don’t I take that appointment? Give me your address and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” I had wanted to get to know Nancy a little better, so we took care of my neglected hair and had a little chat at the same time.

Wednesday morning, as I was leaving with a great haircut (and $63 dollars less in my bank account), Nancy said, “Oh Pam (a mutual friend) will be in the shop this afternoon.”

“Say hi to her for me,” I replied chuckling, since it was Pam and her husband who had canceled the Wednesday morning appointment!

Sometimes it is hard to recognize that the cancellations in our lives are often the very means by which God gives us space, by which He intervenes in our behalf, by which He rearranges our overcrowded lives.

I’ve learned to never complain about unexpected cancellations. At this stage in my life, I think to myself, Hm-m-m-m-m, I wonder what God has up His sleeve? Generally, what follows after this inward reminder is a heightened curiosity that more than makes up for any potential disappointment.

Look for God in the cancellations.

I spy God!

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Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

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Life in Christ

Friday, January 13, 2012 by Karen Mains

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the every day occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:

I have been reading John Stott’s beautiful book Life in Christ, which includes replications of many of the grand master’s paintings of Jesus. Stott, who died a few months ago, was a great theologian and an exemplary Christian leader. This book is an ongoing exposition of all the Scriptures that have to do with the topic of “life in Christ.” One quote, which I read New Year’s Eve day, struck me. It was written by J. C. Ryle, the Bishop of Liverpool from 1850-1900. Life in Christ consists of Christ saying to us, “Abide in me. Cling to me. Stick fast to me. Live the life of close and intimate communion with me. Get nearer and nearer to me. Roll every burden on me. Cast your whole weight on me. Never let go your hold on me for a moment.”

The next morning, early, I checked my e-mail to find a note from a good friend. We had been having an ongoing conversation about my not pursuing my creative writing at this stage in my life. He chided me on allowing the not-so-important to divert me from what was most important. I disagreed with him about what was important and what was not important. It was, if not a heated exchange, a warm one.

So I shot him an e-mail showing him what I was doing regarding what I felt was important and he felt was not-so-important and assured him I was writing quite a bit (although just not for publication).

My first e-mail early on New Year’s Day was from this friend. And the dialogue continued with him asking the often-discussed question of how multi-gifted folk decide exactly where they devote their energies. “I guess the only way to know is to live a life that grows increasingly closer and closer to Christ.”

These two “nudges” reminded me of the set of cassettes that is stored in my book shelf that holds lectures dedicated to the topic of spiritual growth. They are recordings of the teachings of an Indian Christian spiritual leader, Brother Zac Poonen, and are profound in their emphasis that we must live a life in Christ.

Three nudges is more than enough. Obviously, this is to be the theme of my spiritual journey for this New Year. Since we no longer have a cassette player in the car, I will have to be intentional about listening to these 15 cassette teachings. The only place we have a cassette player is the small study at home where I often read the Scripture, pray and write in my journal. I have dubbed this place “the listening room.”

I just pulled down the Zac Poonen cassettes, and after I send these blogs off to my editor, I will carry these tapes down to the listening room, where I suspect I will be spending much time this year. I have much to learn about a life in Christ.

I spy God!

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Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

(GHS-110)

Free Food

Thursday, January 12, 2012 by Karen Mains

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the every day occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:

Because one of the workers at St. Mary’s Catholic Church Food Pantry lives on the same block as my son and daughter-in-law, we are often the recipients of free food. New provisions are being delivered and the shelves have to be cleared of fresh produce before it goes bad and in order to make room for the new.

“We have a box of frozen food for you,” Angela reported last week. The freezers at St. Mary’s had to be cleared due to year-end cleanout requirements and also due to another imminent delivery.

So I gladly took the food, thawed the green beans and mashed potatoes, and David and I enjoyed a good sliced-ham dinner, compliments of the free-food pantry. Several packages of meat, some penne pasta dishes, additional vegetables and a few unmarked plastic bags are now safely parked in the freezer in our garage.

I am grateful for this rather amusing and unusual provision of provender. We are glad to make sure this food doesn’t go to waste. We honked at the truck that was going up and down our son’s street, Clairmont Avenue, distributing other boxes to grateful neighbors, all with large families.

However, this gift of food makes me think of those who regularly receive supplies that supplement their meager incomes. I think of the generosity of donors and of the graciousness of volunteers. I remember those in countries I have visited who literally have nothing to eat. I see visions of starving children in refugee camps and of the lines I have seen forming for milk distribution and tin cans of grain.

I remember that food prices are going up all over the world, causing agony for the poor who suffer so much already. I ask God to forgive us our waste—Americans throw away as much as 40% of all they purchase—and to make me a more thrifty housewife.

And I pray for those who are hungry this day, for those who are watching infants waste away. “Oh, God. Bring provender to all living things on this earth. Help me not to forget those who have nothing to eat while I throw away what has spoiled or what is distasteful to our palate. Help me to honor the gift of this box of frozen food in a way that is a reminder of your intentions for all humans—health and happiness and harmony—and enough to eat.”

I spy God!

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Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

(GHS-109)

Near-Misses

Wednesday, January 11, 2012 by Karen Mains

Have you ever gone on a God Hunt? A God Hunt begins when you teach yourself to look for God’s hand at work in the every day occurrences of your life. Here’s one of my personal God Hunt Sightings:

“Randall said that Nathanael almost had a terrible car accident,” my husband reported about a phone call with our eldest son who lives in Phoenix. Nathanael is old enough to have a learner’s permit and can drive with a licensed adult present in the car.

“What happened?” Of course, grandmother that I am, I was eager for the near-miss details.

It appears they had been driving on an expressway, mounted a hill and realized that logs had torn loose from a flatbed semi and were now rolling across the road toward them. Our son yelled to Nathanael to brake, pulled the wheel to steer the car away from impact, then immediately worried about the cars coming up the same hill behind them. Somehow, they avoided what could have become a tragic highway accident.

This is one of those lessons in the rationale behind defensive driving that all teens need to learn and that seasoned adult drivers often forget. On the road, it is impossible to know what surprise in the lane ahead may turn into life-threatening danger for any of us.

“Oh, I was almost in a collision on New Year’s Day.” I had forgotten to report this near-accident to my husband. Driving home from an early trip to the grocery store, with hardly any cars on the road, I paused at a four-way stoplight, and then began to turn when the light showed green and the left-turn arrow flashed. Suddenly I realized the black SUV traveling in the intersecting lane, Route 59, was going exceedingly fast and not slowing down. Instead of accelerating, which I should have done, I braked, putting me directly in the line of impact. Fortunately, the driver of the black car screeched on the brakes. I checked the signal—yep! the light was still green, the left-turn arrow still showing. I was the one in compliance. I lifted my hands in a what-the-heck-do-you-think-you’re-doing gesture, then proceeded to complete my turn.

I realized as I drove home that I had been spared a collision that would have hit our car right at the driver’s side and would have been a really, really bad beginning for the New Year.

It is at these moments when we remember that a loving God protects us from advancing dangers; they are reminders of His constant loving protection at times we know nothing about.

So I lift my heart in thanksgiving for myself, for our new teen driver Nathanael Mains, and for our families to say, “Thank you God, for these unusual evidences of your care that poke through the fabric of our daily lives to remind us that your web of protection is ever cast over all our days—even when we don’t know it.”

I spy God!

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Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

(GHS-108)

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