Karen Rabbitt

Steady on the Rail

Sometimes Jerry and I walk along railroad tracks and I try to walk on a rail, but I can’t quite keep my balance. It’s a little beyond me. Then I reach for Jerry’s hand. If I can even just touch his hand as he walks alongside me, I walk confidently. Absent his hand, though, I keep falling off. 

Sometimes God asks us to perform right at the edge of our natural ability. Writing a memoir is like trying to balance on that rail. It’s one thing to feel the impact of my memories; it is something else entirely to find the words so that others can feel with me. Like a painter, I can see several images, in my mind’s eye, with my first boyfriend. But I’m struggling to choose the right scenes and the right words to convey the color of my increasing disillusionment with him. I feel like I’m walking a rail by myself. I keep falling off. It’s time to reach for a hand. 

Time to reach not only for the unseen Hand, but for the hands of friends who have committed to pray for my writing. Their prayers will give me eyes to see that unseen Hand extended toward me. Their prayers will give me power to touch that hand. And by the power of their prayers, I can walk supernaturally, holding onto Jesus’ hand. 

Are you, too, falling off the rail? Are you losing your emotional balance? Perhaps you have lost a job. Or you can’t seem to forgive a neighbor. Is it time to reach for other’s hands? Time to let the prayers of others give you power to touch the unseen Hand? 

Jesus, you have called us. You will see us through. Steady us on the rail.   

   

God's Show

Jacob Needleman, eight years old in 1942, had an Uncle Ben who gave him a half-dollar coin now and then. In those war years, fifty cents felt like fifty dollars. Needleman says, in his book, Money and the Meaning of Life, “The experience of this incomprehensible generosity from my Uncle Ben exerted a constant pressure on my mental and emotional development, which, as I now realize, helps me eventually to be convinced that despite all other evidence to the contrary, something like God might actually exist in the universe.” Pg. 197.

Ben showed his love to his young nephew. He didn’t just tell him, “I love you. You’re important and special.” He gave him the feeling of it by coming alongside him, making a transfer of resources. That showing allowed Ben not only to feel good, but to infer that deeper Good might also exist.

In Jesus, God has shown the world his love. He has not only said, “I am gentle and humble in heart,”, but, he also lies, as a baby, amidst the animal’s straw. (Mt.,11:29; Luke 2, NIV) Jesus came not just to tell, but to show. Showing allows us to feel the feeling of the truth, not just grasp it with our minds. John says, in 1John 1:1, “That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked at and touched.” As that baby grew up, he showed John the love of God. In Jesus, we have been shown the love of the Father. The boundary-setting commandments etched on Moses’ tablets told of God’s love. The touch of Messiah’s hand, the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice—these give us the feeling of God’s love.

Holy Spirit, come. Show us, in the scriptural record, Jesus. And help us to infer, from Jesus, the deep goodness of Father, at the center of the universe.

Waiting

“A virgin shall conceive.” Isaiah told God’s promise hundreds of years before the baby arrived. To a people living in darkness, Isaiah prophesied a great light. Hope was kept alive through the years by other prophets but many everyday Israelites must have doubted on their deathbeds that Messiah would ever come. And yet, as a culture, they waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. They waited for God to do what he said he would do.

And one raucous, holy night when Bethlehem was so full of visitors the innkeepers were renting the animal’s quarters, hope was vindicated. The virgin bore the promise. The bloody, pink body burst forth from Mary’s body, adding the smells of childbirth to the smells of the cattle. Hope made flesh.

I’m waiting, too, aren’t’ you? Waiting not just for that grown-up baby’s return, but also for God to make good on the smaller promises. Some of us are waiting for a healing. Others wait for a job. Many wait for redemption of old pain.

In our waiting, let’s take hope from Israel’s waiting. The second coming is as sure as the first. The smaller promises will also be delivered unto us—healing, provision, redemption. With hope, let us wait.

Maranatha, Come Lord Jesus.

WONDER

The winter sun wanes

outside my cottage window,

reclaiming its light.

 

I wander about my warm shelter,

softly gleaming with Christmas lights.

 

Soon, friends will arrive,

stomping their feet on the porch,

blowing frosty air as they burst across the threshold,

bearing sustenance and joy.

 

I wonder as I wait.

 

Is this how He feels?

Is the table laid?

Are the place cards placed? 

Does He wait in quiet joy

for us to burst the gates,

bearing our gifts?