Throwback Thursday: So Much Death - Lent 2012

In my daily (semi-daily, weekly, etc.) sojourn with the Daily Audio Bible, around this time of the year we've made it through Leviticus and Numbers, having been awash in sacrifices, ordinances, and "emissions" for so long that it's easy to get sick of it all. But that would be missing the point - the endless sacrifices and offerings all to be able to come to God. And the great weight of what it really means that Christ died as the perfect sacrifice for all sins, for all time.

Welcome to Lent, my peeps - see you at Easter...

If you've read my series on dreams, (and if you haven't, well you're in good company with the rest of the known universe) you might know that one of them is to live a much smaller life, perhaps on a bit of land, having room to raise some of our own food and make at least part of our lives self-sustaining.

There's a problem with that.

Reading magazines on urban farming or homesteading, often the subject of raising animals on the small farm comes up. Critters to provide a renewable stream of food (milk, eggs, etc.), to provide "output" to make for a greener garden, and to provide... um...

meat.

** My vegetarian friends are already loading their siege engines, calling for my head on a pike. I ask for restraint - this is not a philosophical or ethical discussion on one's eating habits, but heading another direction. What you choose to eat - be it animals or the output of the silent screams of vegetables, that's your gig. **

I'm notoriously tender-hearted when it comes to critters, especially dogs. If a movie includes a scene where the dog gets lost, displaced, harmed or killed, I simply can't watch it. I've had commercials bring me to tears.

Insects, on the other hand, are fair game, at least in the house. I won't go out of my way to stomp a spider outside, but when the multi-legged demon comes inside, it's on... "Not on my turf, Charlotte!"

("It's on," for Vicki, that is. I just sit mumbling in terror until she dispatches the arachnid. I'm a true card-carrying GirlyMan.)

So, although I like the idea of having chickens, and would enjoy a stream of fresh eggs, the idea that sooner or later the girls would need to be turned into tenders or nuggets kind of kills the notion. Same with a family cow - good with the idea of the milk, not so much if I'm the one who has to tell Bossie that it's time for her to move on to the entrée portion of her existence.

** HYPOCRITE!! I hear them scream... Go tour a meat packing plant! Really understand the inhumanity of how meat gets to your table, and you'll apply for that PETA membership before you get out the door!

I'll admit - I couldn't be a butcher - at least not one who has to dispatch the critter. But I'll munch their tasty bits after they're gone, understand the sacrifice of the animal and those that raised it, and appreciate what their life and death gave me. I hope the deed was done humanely, and I hope that they were cared for in a kind way before they became lunch, but most if not all of that is out of my control. Yes, I know I ought to be more concerned and proactive about where I get my meat and how it gets to me, but again, this isn't an ethical discussion. So just roll with me, ok kids? **

So, in a recent issue of Mother Earth News...

"What?"

Yes, I do read Mother Earth News. I even read it in electronic form on my iPad so that I save a tree in the process.

Quit snickering at me - I never claimed to be consistent.

Anyway, in a recent issue of Mother Earth News, there was an article about the pros and cons of raising rabbits.

Awww! Cute fluffy bunnies!

And if you get the right kind, their fur can be spun into yarn and made into all sorts of great things.

(*page turn*)

Oh, and bunnies... are... a great source... of protein... and one humane way... to dispatch them... is...

DEAR FATHER IN HEAVEN ABOVE, WHAT THE HECK IS THAT THING????

The Rabbit Wringer.

"I've got a bad feeling about this."

Billed as a quick and humane way to dispatch... um... harvest... um... cause to shuffle off this mortal coil... um... kill... rabbits.

(I am SO fighting the urge right here to break into a chorus of "Kill the waa-bit! Kill the waa-bit!")

(Hmmm... didn't fight quite hard enough.)

There's even a picture. How helpful. *gulp*

Put bunny's neck into the wringer, give a forceful downward tug, snap the neck and the rabbit is humanely dispatched, ready to become meat and pelt.

I'm SO gonna have nightmares.

I don't care how many times I see Gollum drop the "brace of coneys" into Frodo's lap, tear into one with his bare teeth, and have them snatched away by Sam, telling him that there's only one proper way to eat a brace of coneys, I'm not buying a Rabbit Wringer. *shudder*

Ok, let's get off this rabbit trail and back on to the main path. (Ba-dum-DUMP!)

The reason these things are rolling around Steve's hamster wheel today is in Exodus, where we happen to be reading in the Daily Audio Bible. God is establishing the culture of His chosen people, teaching them His law and how to come to Him. Also giving instruction for the construction and plan of the Tabernacle (the tent of meeting), and the consecration of Aaron and his sons as priests.

And oh my goodness, all the laws and rules and sacrifices. A whole bunch of 'em just to consecrate Aaron and his sons, one morning and evening just as daily routine, others for special feasts, and so on. (And we're just getting started - Leviticus is coming...) It was a tough time to be a cow. Or a sheep. Or other critters. PETA wouldn't have been able to keep up with it all - so many protests, so little time...

All those animals, all that death, all that blood sprinkled here, there and everywhere. And for what?

For God, Himself - dwelling in the tent, right there, where they could see His glory, hear His thunder, and know His presence. All that death, for their new lives as God's own people, His dearly loved chosen people.

I'd imagine that they would have told you and me that it was worth it. The sacrifice pales in comparison with having God in their midst, being His people, guided and protected by Him, led in to the land promised to them, to be His people and a witness of Him to all nations.

Yet, these are the folks that in just a few pages, are going to do that whole golden calf thing, who are going to grumble so loud that they'll get put on hold for 40 years in the fabulous tour of the wilderness, and are going to have prophets write over and over again about their unfaithfulness to the Lord. God will lament over them, "You were to be my people, I would be Your God, but you turned away from me to gods made of wood and stone. You prostituted yourself in the arms of others right in front of me."

God DWELT with them. The blood of countless animals ran to allow them to come to God, and for what? So they could throw it all over for a gold cow. Or a wood thingie. Or a stone thingie. Or some other thingie. So they could kill animals and offer them to a thingie. Or even kill their own children and offer them to a thingie.

This makes no sense to me.

But I am no different.

You see, the blood of the Lamb was shed. He was killed - not in a humane, kind way, but in one of the most horrific deaths twisted human minds could devise at that time. His blood flowed, His life ebbed, He died.

And here I am, getting a little creeped out over a Rabbit Wringer. Alright, a LOT creeped out over a Rabbit Wringer.

God Himself poured out His life as a sacrifice. My consecration cost His blood. What the death of innumerable animals could never secure was accomplished in His death. By His stripes, I am healed.

And just like a stupid sheep, I turn away and go wherever I want. I throw over His sacrifice for thingies. I take my thoughts, my passions, my time, my resources and I hand them over to thingies of wood, to thingies of precious stones or metal, to thingies that go buzz and whirr and have bright lights, to images on a screen, to words on a page, to tunes on a device.

And I feel the weight of a poor animal dying that I might have a burger more than the death of the most beautiful One who ever lived that I might have life.

In the same podcast, as we were reading about the construction of the Tabernacle, we also were in Matthew, hearing our Savior pray, "If it's possible, let this cup pass from me. But if this cup can't pass, and I must drink it, Thy will be done."

The One who accepted His Father's will is the One I will turn my back on...

for a thingie.

If the death of so many animals shocks and disturbs me, shouldn't the death of God Himself plant me on my face in tears? Instead of being creeped out by how many creatures died as sacrifices, I should be shocked and disturbed at how little I think of His sacrifice. For by my unfaithful life, I show to all the world how little I care that He died for me.

Father, forgive me for my unfaithful heart. I am so easily snared and distracted by things, by images, by words and by anything that comes across my path. But Your blood was shed so that I could come to You. You made the way for me to be free. Remind me of the proper perspective - You died that I might have life, and You willingly paid that price to redeem me.

Thank you.

The Brokenness Always Wins

It's almost 4am... I've been awake since 1:15. 

This isn't a pretty page in my journal, and not a lot of fun to read. If you scroll down, you'll probably come across some pictures of Beka - they're a lot nicer to look at than this dark page. But there are dark pages in the Psalms too, so there we are. Rest assured, I'm alright. Things will go on. But sometimes a lament has to come out to make room for other stuff...

I'm feeling the brokenness.

I feel it in our home... The clutter, the way things are slowly (and quickly) decaying, the general dirtiness, the sink full of dishes after being so proud that the sink was empty for a few brief days. The windows that are cracked and wearing, the few improvements we've made but never quite finished, leaving unpainted trim and unfinished walls in their wake, the run-down, the shabby, the mind-numbing clutter, the way it forces us into little paths from this room to that, from my chair to the kitchen to the bedroom but no further.

My hands are too full, and I can't hold on to everything.

The brokenness always wins.

I feel it in my mind... Looking back on some years of journaling...

(I can't really call it "blogging" or "writing," since, as someone whose blog I read regularly quoted someone else, and as usual I make a habit of mangling source AND quoted material, anyway, they said "If you're writing and nobody is reading it, you're journaling." So yep - this is my electronic diary, not all that much advanced from the pathos and drama of a teenager pouring out the convolutions of their twisted soul to a blank, uncaring page...) 

Anyway, looking back at the entries of my  "journal," it saddens me to see that some of the things I would "whine" about when I started this thing, struggling with my weight and a whole host of issues underlaying it, are the very same things I "ponder" about these many years later, still struggling with my weight and a whole host of issues underlaying it...

And now I'm older, with new issues adding their lovely siren songs to the pile, which gets higher day by day.

My hands are too full, and I can't hold on to everything.

The brokenness always wins.

I feel it in lost joys of movement and freedom...

My beloved trike has seen little to no action this last year. Tai Chi, my new love, my friend, the thing that brought balance and strength to me, has fallen in a dusty heap, along with the exercise balls, the strength bands, the walking shoes, the disc golf discs, the bocce balls, and a multitude of other "toys" to entice me to get out and move.

I sit. I lay in bed, eating supper and watching videos on YouTube. I crochet in a dark house, instead of riding in the sunshine.

My hands are too full, and I can't hold on to everything.

The brokenness always wins.

I feel it in my life direction...

Again, looking through my e-diary journal thingie, I can see the path... From getting laid off from my "calling" in radio, to a brief stint in post-production at CBH, trying to sell jewelry, making and selling CDs, a brief stint at WaY FM, loom knitting and crocheting, playing gigs at retirement communities or coffeehouses, trying to have a "real" part-time job in retail, looking at writing a book or being a real, honest-to-goodness "writer," well, guess what?

Nothing has changed. I'm still wandering, still lost, still looking for something, anything to provide purpose or direction to this random pile of poopy I call my life. 

My hands are too full, and I can't hold on to everything.

The brokenness always wins.

And I don't know if I can keep doing this... keep trying to hold the brokenness at bay. It was easier to do when it was just months or even a year after the surgery - it was all shiny and new, excitement and momentum were doing their thing, and the new life was a bright path in front of me. Anything seemed possible.

The remodeling was done, everything was pretty and new...

My hands are too full, and I can't hold on to everything.

The brokenness always wins.

Four years later, the path is dull grey. The excitement has worn off, the mundane has set in, there are cracks and wear where things really should be painted or fixed or maintained, and I just don't know if I can keep up with it.

There is stuff to be gotten rid of, there are walls to fix and paint, there are floors to be scrubbed, there is filth and decay and habits and bad choices, and they are choking me. 

There are taxes to be paid, there are idols to try and destroy, there are dreams to kill, there are dishes to do, there are lies of the mind to be denied, there are trikes to be ridden, there are things to be made, and I can't see which one to pick up and which one to throw down.

Be a writer - write. But ALSO find your "tribe," build your readership, and keep up your presence on social media. Don't forget to get your stuff out there - lots of submissions. You'll get a lot of rejections, but that's what it takes. 

You're a musician too? Well, practice! And work on your next project. Oh, and build your fanbase, call everyplace to find gigs, keep after places you've played so that they know you're still out there to come back and play, get your music out there in every possible outlet, go after new fans, and keep your stuff in front of the public.

By the way... none of this is really going to bring in some income, and help fill that hole in the pit of your heart - that guilty pit where you see your Beloved bringing in the income, then struggling to make it stretch to fit all the bills. Remember (like you could ever forget...) that you led the charge into that bottomless cavern she's trying to dig you out of, and realize that for all your running around, writing here, doing part-time stuff there, or engaging in "creative pursuits," you really aren't contributing anything significant to ease the load.

I realize that I've never really learned to work hard, to keep working hard, and to not give up. And I'm in my mid-fifties... old, tired, and probably not going to learn that blessed truth anytime soon.

My hands are too full, and I can't hold on to everything.

The brokenness always wins.

In a new way, I think I have a little more insight into those who take their own lives. I think their hands have gotten so full, the weight so heavy, that they simply can't take up the fight one more day. They don't realize the pain and emptiness they will leave behind - they only see that their hands are too full and they can't hold on to everything.

The brokenness always wins.

How do you pick and choose? How do you empty your hands? How do you decide the "must-do's," the "should-do's," and the "might-do's," when they all look the same? How do you keep them all appeased, to try and hold the brokenness off for one more day? And where do you find the strength to wake up tomorrow to do it all again?

I don't know. Truth be told, I've never known, my whole life long. I don't know how to pick something up, deal with it, put it down, pick up something else, take care of it, keep going on... And NOT forget the first thing sitting back there, which now needs to be dealt with again, before I get to the other thing on the list. 

How do you empty your hands? How do you get rid of the stuff that's choking you and killing the things that truly matter? How do you keep the essentials from getting forgotten?

And is there ever any space to breathe, to rest, to dream, to love, to feel?...

My hands are too full, and I can't hold on to everything.

The brokenness always wins.

Abba Daddy, I'm confused. I'm hurting. And my hands are tired. 

I could throw a pithy phrase in here like, "So I place everything into Your hands," but we both know that's a lie - I'll still see the clutter, hear the cries of the urgent, and feel the weight of all the "things" waiting to overpower me as soon as I turn off this screen.

I'm confused. I don't know what to keep and what to throw away - I'm not even strong enough to reach down and throw things away... I'll just keep piling the trash around my feet, as the tears roll down my face.

I'm afraid that the brokenness will win again. And I don't want that. But I don't know how to sort things out, how to get back to just those very VERY few things that You want me to take care of. I can't recognize those few things anymore - they're lost in the static of everything.

I'm sorry that I'm carrying around idols. I'm sorry that I turn to this screen for comfort and joy far more than I ever turn to You. I've gotten so numbed by the glare of the screen that I didn't see all the horrors in the shadows. I didn't see just how close and how dark the brokenness is.

I'm sorry that I've been wasting my new life. And I'm sorry that I haven't been taking care of it like I should. I forgot how many chains You've shattered, and been trying to re-make them from the broken links. I'm trotting off to Egypt, when You're waiting for me in the new land.

I'm scared, Daddy. I don't know what to do next. I don't know how to sort out this mess. And I don't know how to begin to try.

My hands are tired, and I can't hold on to everything. 

Help me Father... please. 

Only You can break the brokenness.

When I Grow Up, Again... ad infinitum...

Here's another installment of "When I Grow Up", which was begun back here in When I Grow Up Again...which then explains the whole "another installment" thing.

I'm learning to move - to test the waters, to try the doors and see if they're open, to find my course, and to do so without any sort of "Deus ex Machina." I'm on the wire, without a net OR a little pink umbrella.

And I think I may have stumbled over something important. (Or as the old saying goes, "What are toes for? To find furniture in the dark." Owwwwww...)

To clarify, it's something semi-sort-of-potentially-possibly-maybe important to my limited but learning view of the world. Truth be told, what I stumble over is usually something the rest of the adult world has known and practiced for years. In fact, my dear mom would be rolling her eyes a bit, since such things are "common sense," and she always wondered why I have so little of that particular commodity...

"Meesa too," said Jar-Jar Calbert.

Anyway, it's comforting to know that I do stumble over something once in a while in what seems like an everlasting pool of ponder. I think it's kind of like having spent $500 in the casino, then finally winning $5, which convinces you to spend another $300 to see if you'll win another $5. 

(Truthfully, the whole gambling thing makes no sense to me whatsoever. I think actually holding on to some money and using it correctly is much more exciting than watching it flow away faster than the output of one of those new-fangled power flush toilets - This from a guy that used to frustrate his beloved on a weekly if not every-other-daily basis from the influx of eBay acquisitions. Life 2.0 - better for the bod, WAY better for the budget...)

(However, I HAVE been ogling some ocarinas...)

The Dwarf Ocarina from STL Ocarina!  It'd be amazing to have this little puppy sitting in its stand on my whistle table, getting weird stares from folks, and THEN pick it up and play it! Woo hoo!!

So anyway, in the midst of all my pondering, eventually sometimes I do find a nugget of goodness... After all, even a broken clock is right twice a day. (Which in this day of digital clocks doesn't mean diddly, but it did when I was way younger than I am now.

*sigh*)

Anyway, let's get past the outside fluffy and into the nugget-y goodness...

What if charting my course isn't about dropping interests and pursuits so I can "grow up," "settle down," and "act my age, not my shoe size?" 

(Because if it includes any of those, I am SO hosed...)

What if it's taking the things I truly love, and focusing (or limiting) the RANGE of what I do with them? Making space to improve and perfect the pursuits I'm after, rather than trying to do everything all the time with them?

In other words, try to become better at what I already love.

WHAT IF:

- Instead of trying to make such a huge variety of wire wrapped jewelry, or trying every cool technique I come across, I focus on a few things that I do well, make them a lot, so that I work toward perfecting how I make them, and use that to improve my skill?

- Instead of trying every crochet project that my eyes come upon, I figure out which projects I like, that I think are beautiful or useful, and I work in that area, honing my skills and improving them?

- Instead of trying to keep up on all styles of music and all instruments, I really focus on a few instruments that I truly love, and what type of music really fits with my "voice," and make those the projects I work hard at, to perfect my craft and become better?

- I keep after my vision of writing my book and posting on my blog, focusing on that and not caring about numbers or popularity? Simply writing the things the Lord puts in front of me and trusting that He will put them where they need to go, to encourage or challenge the people He intended them for? (Even if that "people" is only me...)

Interesting ponderables, eh wot?

As I "mature" in life 2.0, and try to "act my age" after being ReBorn, what's still fair game? What stuff is alright, desirable, or permissible to be written on this "blank slate?" (Tabula Rasa) 

And in this process, am I losing the absolute joy of getting to create "stuff," as I try to "chart the course?" Am I missing the point? To try, explore, and find wonder?

Does our Father help us narrow our vision, so that the pursuits we truly love remain, and others fall, leaving us free to chase after the ones that are really important?

Am I so right-brained that I live in a fantasy world of yarn, gold or silver wire, and typing on a little keyboard while I should be doing something  "real" with my time and energy?

Is there any bacon in the house?

(Sometimes, it's safer for me to write at a coffeehouse than approximately 10 feet from the kitchen. Ah well...)

(Mmmm... Bacon.)

I have no answers for this exhaustive (and exhausting) list of questions. But I think I've found something to hang on to - focus the pursuits you want to continue, narrow the scope, and find the joy and wonder of getting to create, remembering how much our Father loves to watch His kids do stuff, and make stuff, and learn stuff.

As I said in part 1, I think it's time for more doing, trying, and moving, and less pondering, thinking, and considering. So I'm going to take this little nugget, trot it around the track instead of setting it on the shelf and looking at it, and see what droppings fall. 

(Man - my "bad analogy lock" must be stuck on this little keyboard thingie. Sorry about that... )

Anyway, I'm guessing that there are other gentlebeings around that might be feeling like "The party's over, and I'm really depressed." If so, let us ponder together, move from ponder to pursue, and try to smack some of these nuggets outta the park.

Let's move away from, "I'm too old; Too many of my days are gone; It's far too late to dream; What you got, you got."

"It's too late baby, oh it's too late, though we really did try to make it." 

(Yup - that's a song quote. I'll admit it - "I can't hide it, I just can't fake it.")

(And no, I don't "probably think that song is about me.")

Who wants to "grow up" and "become an adult," if all that means is you give up all the good stuff? Instead, maybe "growing up" is just defining the spaces and boundaries we get to explore in our ongoing adventure with our Father. 

Move, try, explore, consider, focus, refine. And along the way, find joy, wonder, and lots of smiles as I make refrigerator art for my Father. 

He loves it when I do that.

Phabulous Photo Phriday: Quality Time with Da Girlz

So there's this little thing that happens at our home...

Wherein a certain member of our little family...

Seems to crave a lot of "up close and personal" contact with other family members...

Finding ways to be near her packmates...

Even if they're unconscious. (Actually, she kind of prefers it that way.)

A conscious packmate can be a resistant packmate. But an unconscious packmate is putty in the paws.

See? Putty. And a darn fine headrest when the big guy is napping in his chair...

To everything there is a season... There is a time for direct action...

(Especially when waffles are involved...)

And a time for covert action...

Because there is ONE and only ONE chair where a proper nap can be taken...

And if occupying the one and only nap chair has to involve some "creative covert occupying," well, so be it.

Homegirl loves her packmates.

It's good to be The Beka.

Thanks for joining us for another Phabulous Photo Phriday... Tune next time to hear BekaV SING,

"I got the WHOLE chair, to MYself! 

I got the whole dang chair, to MYself!"

(From her soon-to-be-released single, 

"She's Got The Whole House In Her Paws.")

Throwback Thursday: Livin' La Vida Leviticus

Originally published March 30, 2012... and just as true today as we're once again listening through the book that Jon Acuff calls the "read through the Bible in one year widow maker." He's a smart and funny boy...

Alright, let's put it right out there... When reading your way through the Bible, there are some parts you just aren't looking forward to. It's ok - you can say it. I did, and no lightning ensued. No chasm opened up, swallowing me, Edward G. Robinson, or any golden cow. Nor did Charlton Heston lob any stone tablets my way.

The word "begat" can instantly make us want to check our email. Major prophets can leave us in a minor fog. Revelation sometimes isn't revealing.

Sorry for that last one. I'm feeling a little punny this morning.

And then there's the Pentateuch - the first five books of the Old Testament. There's action, drama, brave deeds, inexplicable redemption...

And Leviticus. Not to mention Numbers.

Oi vey.

Now as you may know, or as you may not know, since obviously the doings of my little life are scarcely worth a blip on the radar of the grand scheme of all things considered in the world as a whole, um... where was I?

Oh yeah.

I listen to the Daily Audio Bible each day. It keeps me centered in the Word, it makes me mindful of God's place in my day, and at the very least, it keeps me obedient to show up every day. Listening for me works better than trying to navigate and read the word, since I can keep my hands busy (with crochet or loom knitting) which keeps my head engaged.

Except... for... Leviticus. (And, not to mention, Numbers.)

Woof.

Now, for anyone who lives an orthodox faith life that includes following the laws and commands in Leviticus, please don't interpret anything I might say in any way slamming, insulting, disparaging or otherwise casting nastiness on the things written therein. The foundation of my own faith life comes from there, and the whole Bible is God's word to me.

That being said, I repeat:

Woof.

It's taking some major effort to stay engaged. Or to not fast forward to the New Testament reading. I mean, we're in Mark. I can get a handle on Mark. I can engage with Mark. The depth of the wisdom of Jesus eludes my thick head, but still - I can engage with it. But when phrases like "This is the law for he who has a sore or rash of the skin" come up, I want to run screaming from the room.

And don't even get me started about when the word "emission" comes around. *shudder*

Thankfully, Brian Hardin has been taking some level of pity on us, reading from translations that at least give us some modern language to wade through. I can't imagine listening through this in the King James Version.

Not that there's ANYTHING wrong with the KJV. Just to be clear. Really. I mean that. Look - the KJV is one of the translations in my PocketBible App. Look - right there. See?

(did I cover enough of my hiney on that one?)

Today, I think the Lord had mercy upon me, when He prompted Steve the Mental Hamster to spin up a little something that I can wrap the ol' noodle around to help me put some of what I'm listening to in perspective. Thanks Steve - as always, you fling and I'll catch.

There are exceptions to that rule, by the way.

Anyway, what I'm finally getting out of Leviticus is just how much I take God for granted. How much I try to reduce Him or try to pare Him down to fit into my little world. The way I try to take my walk as a follower of Jesus, and turn it into a stroll, a shuffle, a meander, a wander - anything but a walk. To make every day Casual Friday, or spin off a new movement - Casual Christianity. (I'm certain someone already thought of that...) In other words -

To make God into "my Big Buddy upstairs."

And that He should never be. Not in word, not in thought, and certainly not by my deeds. And if there was any doubt about that, a trip through Leviticus will clear it up.

God is holy. His people approach a holy God, and in order to come to Him, they must be clean. Nothing unclean can come to Him, and to try and approach Him thus leads to death. Trying to come to Him directly is impossible - it requires the consecrated priests to go between us and offer the sacrifices. The sacrifices must be without flaws or blemishes, or He will not accept them. His festivals and sacrifices must be observed. His sabbath must be obeyed.

All because He gets great entertainment seeing just how many hoops He can make people jump through just to contact Him, right? To get His kicks seeing just what lengths these flawed human beans will go to so some guilt will be lifted off their backs?

Because He's so detached from all creation that He can't relate to us at all unless we perform all sorts of snitty little things to even have Him notice us at all, let alone hear us or, dare we imagine it, respond to us?

Um, no. Nope. Nada.

Get this into your basic view of everything around you: The world is broken. We are fallen, broken creatures in need of redemption. Sad, but there it is. No matter how much optimism we try and pour into it, regardless of how much we'd "like to teach the world to sing," or how we're encouraged to "coexist," it's like putting a bandaid over an amputation. There's a deeper, severe issue at the root of it - it's all broken.

That's not pessimism, that's not bein' an old poop, and that's not refusing to make lemonade when the world hands me lemons - it's the basic premise that in my little limited world forms the key to trying to understand any of the chaos.

So how does one approach a perfect, holy God when one is a flawed, broken creature in need of redemption?

Livin' La Vida Leviticus.

Now, forward on to my time and my A.D. world... The Lamb of God was sacrificed to redeem this broken creature. And all broken creatures. But is the one sacrifice any less than all the countless ones that went before? Or is it so much greater than everything before or after that the ordinances and rules and forms of Leviticus seem simple in comparison?

And how should I respond to such mercy and grace? If the Hebrews couldn't come near to God without the intervention of the priests, how can I just roll out a hearty "OMG!" with nary a guilty twinge? If the implements of service in the Tabernacle were so holy that they required a whole list of rules to just get them from place to place, how do I act and interact at our church?

Just because God's gift in Jesus is free, we can't ever see it as "cheap."

One final observation, lest the ship get so overbalanced in one direction that we capsize... We live under grace, not the Law. Christ came to grant true and absolute freedom, and I am thankful for that. Believe me, saddlepals, in my second life and new physique, I understand a bit more of overwhelming grace than I ever have.

But the attitude of my heart, and the actions that spring from it, needs to reflect the weight of that mercy and grace. Not to bear it, since I can't; Not to add to it or take away from it, since my puny humanity could never accomplish such a thing; and not to discount or cheapen it by my attitude or behavior. To strive for and hopefully achieve the balance between amazing intimacy with Jesus, and proper awe and reverence for the Father. To worship the Triune God both as a fallen creature in need of redemption, and as an adopted son redeemed by faith in Christ Jesus.

And to remember the lesson of Leviticus - God's gift of life is free, but it is never ever cheap.