Extramundane

That word appeared in my word of the day email.

Extramundane.

The definition that popped into my head ran along the lines of extraordinary boring, dull beyond measure, *yaaaaaaawwwwn* etc.

The definition, suprised me.

Now, I don’t know about you but I’ve always heard mundane used in a negative context. That task is so mundane (aka boring). You know just doing the mundane things to survive (aka my life is like a wrecking ball of boredom, laundry, dishes, diapers, cleaning….you name it there is nothing interesting here please move on so I don’t fall asleep just talking about my life.)

Mundane.

It sounds like Monday…a day the jury is out on.

But say it a few times. Mundane…MUNDANE, mundane. Mundane.mun…dane.

I know, you’re raising your eyebrow at me, wondering if I’ve gotten out of the loony bin. It might be my state bird, but I am not a loon. Just for clarification.

Mundane, according to Websters 1828 Dictionary is this: Belonging to the world; as mundane sphere; mundane space.

mundane (adj.) from etymolonine.com

mid-15c., mondeine, “of this world, worldly, terrestrial,” from Old French mondain “of this world, worldly, earthly, secular;” also “pure, clean; noble, generous” (12c.) and directly from Late Latin mundanus “belonging to the world” (as distinct from the Church), in classical Latin “a citizen of the world, cosmopolite,” from mundus “universe, world,” which is identical to mundus  “clean, elegant,” but the exact connection is uncertain and the etymology is unknown.

Interestingly enough…

antemundane (adj.) is….

“existing or happening before the creation of the world,” 1731; see ante- + mundane.

So any clue as to what extramundane might be?

extramundane

[ ek-struh-muhn-deyn, –muhn-deyn ] 

adjective

beyond our world or the material universe

It struck me.

People seem to think that being a Christian is a mundane thing…when in reality is far beyond–it is an extramundane thing. It is beyond this world, it is otherworldly. There is a preacher who when he’s asked where he’s from surprises his listeners by declaring he’s a citizen of the New Jerusalem.

How often am I caught in the mundanity of life, when I should be captivated by the “extramundanity” of my Jesus? The extraordinariness, and wonder of who He is, of what He has done, of what He has promised…of who He is.

Jesus is my extra, He’s out of this world incredible.

So, next time someone asks how life is going and you’re doing well, tell them it’s extramundane…and maybe you’ll; get to share exactly how of this world good God is.

This world is not my home, I am just a passing through…

This mundane is not my home, I am just a passing through my treasure is laid up beyond the extramundane…

Okay, okay, I’ll stop but you get the idea…right?

Life is about One thing.

Don’t get so caught up in the mundane you miss the extramundane life….

A Taste of Romance

Petals, stems, leaves, flowers, vases, water, scissors.

Arranging flowers.

There is something about flowers that can unlock the conversation of romance.

The conversation usually runs along the lines of things like…

What kind of flowers do you like? What flowers are romantic to you? What kind of wedding bouquet do you want?

I was cutting flowers with another single young lady and we talked about the lack of romance in our lives, the joys of singleness, and the delight of arranging flowers for others. As the years have gone by, I realize that my definition of romance has changed…though I am not even sure I was prepared for what came out of my mouth, but yet there is the deep sweet undertone of longing that I cannot deny.

Romance, as I’ve grown older, has never been the sappy gushy wishy-washy of a romance novel, it’s not Paris in spring, chocolates, outings with ambiance or a thousand other things…

That is not romance.

Restaurants with ambiance, boxes of chocolates for me to eat, and dozens of roses—is not the life or love I want.

Romance, is suffering.

To step forward and to sip from the same cup as the one we love, their joys their sorrows, their burdens their ups their downs the twirling whirlwind dance of life.

This—is romance.

Those words awakened me in a way that I cannot explain.

It whispered of the visions of romance that I have glimpsed of in the film: Free Burma Rangers, and the tantalizing ever so relatable stories of Brother Andrew in God’s Smuggler.

Suffering, is romance…

The answer of the armor bearer…to Jonathan…

Later that week, martyrs deaths were brought up on a screen.

As I looked at stoning, beheadings, clubbing’s, boiling oil—I wondered: Am I ready?

Do I quaver to step forward?

My heart cried Lord please make me ready. Make me fit, bring glory to Your kingdom…these deaths…I’ve read portions of the Foxes Book of Martyrs, in riveted awe, wonder and horror…but am I ready to walk in those shoes?

Then He brought back the words I said to the young lady.

Romance, is suffering.

Looking up afresh on that list, I realized it was the most romantic thing in the world. Those were beloved, they knew the love of Christ…

Lord may I love you so much, that any of those would be romance to my soul.

This cup I take, this unleavened bread I hold, it is a token of His covenant. Communion not a mere symbol of Christianity—but so much more. Through the word, I have a record of my Christ. With the Bible He spells out with His words and life, His promises of provision, the life that He will lead, the inheritance of the Father—it is all spelled out in the promises of Old Covenant, and they are all fulfilled in the New, and given me the wedding gift of His Holy Spirit to prepare my heart.

He has called me to Him, to be His bride.

There is no detail spared, no hidden lines.

In boldness and love, He calls so tenderly:

Arise my love, my fair one, take up your cross and follow me.

To be one with Him, is to drink of that cup.

To follow in His divine footsteps, it to partake of that life.

The sufferings and sorrows, the rejoicing and His hope.

He has taken the wrath of God, He has drunk from the divine cup.

The cup now stands on the table for me to drink, to share, to pledge, to partake of what He promises—His life, His sufferings—and should the occasion require it—to partake of His death.

So here I am, I will take, drink all of it.

Here I am…spend me.

Plugged in

image provided by pixabay

Starting the car, I grabbed the charger for my phone…

Then, I laughed at myself.

Minutes before it had been plugged in and charging…it was fully charged. I doubted that it had “uncharged” in the few minutes that it had taken me to walk downstairs, fill my water bottle, and walked to the car. Yet, here I was grabbing for something I didn’t need.

My reflex was to grab for the cord had become natural in my drive days before as the map app on my phone drained my battery like a fox holding a banquet in a hen house. Running to the small coffee shop that I knew the directions to certainly had no need of a map app or my phone being plugged in.

Then it struck me…

Abide in Me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself unless it abides in the vine, so neither can you unless you abide in Me. ~John 15:5

My heart needs to be turned towards Christ, the same way my hands were trained to plug in my un-eternal cell phone. I want to be hungry for Christ in that same way, to never be unattached from Christ, my life instict to be attached to Him, to cling to Him, to turn to Him, to look to Him as my life, my energy, my source, my joy, my love–my everything.

I wondered for a moment, how easily do I get my “charge” from Bible reading, fellowship, prayer, the slip onto battery saving mode and try to get on in my day without staying attached to Christ…who IS MY LIFE. There is no life outside of Christ…none whatsoever.

What are you plugged into? Where do you find life? How do you stay charged thoughout the day? Is Christ your life?

Pearls, Idols, and Jesus ~ Journal Jots

Apparently, I am into pulling out journal jots and making them entries. This one is not two years old, but it comes from late June this year…but it is still fresh and heavy on my heart a frequent meditation, I am a little hesitant to share because I know I do not live this yet but I crave it, I desire it…and I’ll stop explaining and just let you read it…

image courtesy of pixabay

A horseshoe-shaped driveway, poised lion statues, two-story brick house lengthy windows, cars…more than I imagined anyone needed to own lining a side driveaway.

I pulled up at the home of my employer and gawked double-checking the address. I was in the right place. Stepping out of the car and walking up the flower-laden steps to the double front doors. I knocked. The door was answered by the mother of my employer, she asked what I was there for and I answered. “To clean the ice machine.”

I’ll be honest that is not an answer I ever expected to give anyone answering the door, but there I was ready to clean a tiny ice cube making machine. She ushered me into the house. Vaulted ceilings, sweeping half-spiral staircase, lush rugs that were the kind I imagined in princess stories, elegant dining table, and chairs, sparkling chandeliers. At last, we reached my destination, the laundry room.

If you cut my room in half the widthwise, then put it end on end…the laundry room was the size of my bedroom. Wall, length closet space, two washers and dryers, dog beds, and other things including the countertop ice machine. (This is one of those luxury items I didn’t know was a thing! For years I was our icemaker then we updated to a fancy fridge that made it for us…) I spent 20 minutes cleaning the little machine and it was all set and ready to go making fresh ice for my then boss.

I let myself out of the house.

Tears started to gather in my eyes.

Jesus, why did I ever think any of this was important?

Years ago, I might have said a house like that was my dream, but time has changed that, and as I sat in my car wiping tears from my eyes, the realization hit me that I would rather have Jesus and live in a cardboard box than sell myself out for the riches of this world and have a house like that. (I am not promoting homelessness btw, houses are good, just in perspective but if you have to make a choice, go for the cardboard box.) I listened to them anxious and angry at work about this and that person losing them money, I watched them throw fits about people not listening to them, and allowing their wealth to vindicate their attitude towards others.

I slipped the car into gear and started to drive away…

A story from many years before started to drift through my mind…

A little girl for her birthday had been given money to spend on herself. She went to the dollar store and chose a faux pearl dress-up necklace. She loved the necklace, she loved it so much she wore it everywhere she went, swimming, dance lessons, church, the playground, the sandbox, on a picnic, day or night she could not bear to be separated from her new treasured pearl necklace. Now, you can easily imagine the condition of this dollar store necklace after a few weeks. The faux pearl veneer had mostly chipped off and some pearls had become entirely bald of their shimmer revealing their true bland plastic selves. But still, she cherished it. One evening her father came in to bid her goodnight and asked her a question.

“Will you give me your pearl necklace?”

“No!” was her reply.

“Okay, I love you, goodnight.” Kissing her on the forehead he left, a touch of sadness in his demeanor.

This troubled his daughter. Why would Daddy want my necklace? Why did that make him sad? Daddy is a boy, what would he do with my pearl necklace?

The senario repeated itself the next evening.

“Will you give me your pearl necklace?”

“No?!”

“I love you, goodnight.” Kissing her on the forehead he left with that same touch of sadness.

Now, I don’t remember if it was three days or a week, but at last, the little girl decided if Daddy wanted her pearl necklace–he should have it.

He came in to say goodnight.

She looked at him anxiously, would he ask the same question? Would he have her give up her treasured faux pearl necklace? What could he possibly do with it?

“Will you give me your pearl necklace?”

Sorrowfully, she took it off. “Daddy, if you want my pearl necklace. You can have it.” she placed it in his open hand. A smile spread across his face. He sat down beside her on the bed, tucking the faux pearl necklace into his pocket.

“Thank you, dear daughter, I have something I’ve wanted to give you, but I couldn’t until you gave me these.” he pulled out from his other pocket a velvet box. In it. A string of real pearls.

The story struck afresh cord in my heart. How many times have I clung to things that seem important, how much have I clung to idols in my heart, cherishing them above all else, above the treasure that God is? The best thing I can do is exchange the idols in my heart for more of Jesus. Replacing the treasures of this world stored up in my heart with Jesus. I started realizing even aspects of my future I’ve clung to…is idolatry in my heart.

Marriage, children, job, secure and certain future…how I’ve pictured my life.

I laughed with tears in my eyes, joy and sorrow, that sweet mixed cup. My life, is not my own, how did I think I could ever plan on living it? I’ve had my road map turned all upside down. My life is found in Jesus, my life should be full of Jesus, all I should want in life is Jesus. This world has nothing to offer me–it cannot give me Jesus.

Evidence Not Seen

Recently, for the third time in the last six months I listened to the story of Darlene Deibler Rose. This is one of the true stories, that you wish you could reach through pages and time and give them a hug. Darlene, feels like one of those Kindred Spirits, a big sister in Christ, whose feet I could sit at and learn from all day long.
There is a special kinship as I dive into these pages that strikes a deep cord within.
Part of it I believe is we come from similar regions, she mentions a city twenty minutes from where I live in her book, and I can see the Midwest mindset in the way she thinks and even talks sometimes. The same rapt wonder that she expresses as she arrives in a tropical climate, is the same I felt arriving in a subtropical Taiwan. Some of the sights and smells she relates…and I am a moment later in her shoes, smelling the same strange market places and sweet wonder of night blooming jasmine. I relate to the intense heat of the day with no air conditioning, and loving a people whose language I am learning…
While I have not stood on the soil of New Guinea, I have stood on soil occupied by the Japanese forces during WWII and seen the aftermath, many, many years later. I have walked through the bomb shelters, and the structures they left behind when they lost the war. In some places they have become beautified as a tourist attraction, the sharp agony of occupation softening the scar with balm of time and forgotten by those did not feel it’s crushing heel. But still in others—it has left an angry wound, flared and festered with the feeling of being forgotten…
Living in the aftermath of this story—and so many others, having sipped from the cups of history through reading, but this is a story that can earthquake the soul. 
This is one of those books I wish I had read earlier in life…especially before going to the mission field, but I passed up on reading the book for many years because my mom owned the VHS tapes of Darlene, as an enchanting, lovable, antiquated lady, giving her testimony seated in a chair against a dark blue background, the light casting a halo on her golden white hair; that was cut just like my Grandma. Many times I sat in rapt wonder watching the story of Darlene with my Mama….but somehow as she related her story, I missed something. Perhaps it was because I was young when we had the VHS 📼, and I myself had not felt the fires of life, nor drank from that bitter-sweet well of suffering, that I missed the beauty and golden treasures hidden in this book.
When it comes to trying to describe this book, words seem paltry and small, there is so much power delivered by Darlene’s pen as she walks us through the fires of her affliction, holding onto nothing but the hand of God. Her faith is eloquent in it’s simplicity, she bears her cross as she saw our Master bear His. She goes through a vast wilderness that would crush most into dust and ashes, as a light, shining into the monstrous darkness that claims to have her in it’s teeth. She held fast and did not waver, looking only, ever at the Savior. She was a good solider, who did not melt at persecution, did not give way in all the confusion. Her soul was not made of sweet sticky chocolate Christianity that melts at the moment heat is introduced to its life. Her soul, she was willing to let it be refined in the fire as gold, tried over and over and over again, until it reflected but one thing.
Her Lord.  

The Heart of an Armor Bearer

Today, as I was on Instagram, I came across the name Hamish. (Did you know that was still a name? It is! And it’s derived from James—don’t ask me how it got there, I am not Scottish.) But thoughts of renaming a character for a novel I’ve been reworking on for the last few years flashed through my mind. I started perusing my favorite name website and stumbled across the name Jonathan, and my heart warmed at the thought of that name, and how well it would actually fit my character. Then, my thoughts pattered back to something I had journaled in December of 2018, about Jonathan and his armor bearer, so I dusted off the cobwebs from this little entry and wanted share it with you.

Image provided by Pixabay 


1 Samuel 14:6-7
6 And Jonathan said to the young man that bare his armor, Come, and let us go over unto the garrison of these uncircumcised: it may be that the Lord will work for us: for there is no restraint to the Lord to save by many or by few.
7 And His armor bearer said unto him, Do all that is in thine heart: turn thee; behold, I am with thee according to thy heart.
I love the audacity of these two.
Strangely, what struck me first was not the faith of Jonathan, but the heart of his nameless armor bearer
Do all that is in thine hear, turn thee: behold, I am with thee according to thy heart.
Not, are you crazy, what are you thinking?
Simply, YES.
I love the confidence the audacity, the faithfulness, the echoes of Ruth’s vow to Naomi, the  Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: they people shall be my people, and they God my God: Where thou diest will I die, and there will I be buried: The Lord do so to me, and more also, if ought be death part thee and me.
And almost a foretaste of the words of Mary would utter in Luke 1:38 And Mary said, Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word. And the angel departed from her. Acceptance and submission to what seems to be the impossible.
Do all that is in thin heart: turn thee; behold, I am with thee according to thy heart.
Reading this I wanted this to be the echo and anthem of my heart, I want to be an armor bearer. To say yes, I am here, where you go, I will go….
They could have died. The armor bearer knew that.
I particular love two words in this sentence. Turn thee.
I don’t know how this conversation happened. But in my minds eye, I see Jonathan as he walking away from looking over at the Philistine position and uttering these words in a desire to do something. Steel-like resolution has entered Jonathan, and he has one goal in mind. His armor bearer doesn’t hesitate. It’s almost as if his fist goes over his heart as he says: Do all that is in thine heart: turn thee (lets go back); behold, I am with thee according to thy heart.
He’s counted the cost.
He knows this could mean death, but he has Jonathan’s back. He’ll be at his side come sweet victory or violent death…there is no way the Philistine’s are going to take it easy on them and if they figure out that Jonathan is a prince…it escalates what the punishment could be, not only to him but his armor bearer.
Can we just glory in these words just for a moment?
Do all that is in thine heart: turn thee; behold, I am with thee according to thy heart.
Loyalty—I’ve had a weakness for it since I was a kid. Loyalty is one of my core threads of who I am, it’s the bottom line of the bread and butter of what I breathe. So, my heart thrills at these words of the armor bearer. His declaration boils down to this: what beats in your heart, beats in mine. I want to be that person, who comes beside someone with a vision and say here I am, I share it. I have your back, if it brings us victory or death, I am here, what beats in your heart beats in mine.
Jonathan. I love this man, David is incredible but Jonathan…I have a bit of a big soft spot for him. His audacity, his boldness, his faith, his confidence…the knowledge of his position. A son of Israel, son of the King, a thirst for what was right. He wasn’t after his own glory, honor, or anything else…he was after what belonged to Israel. His father would get credit for winning the war. What burned in his heart was righteousness and the faith to claim the promise.
In that he turned to his armor bearer and said Come, let us go over unto the garrison of our enemy, it may be that the Lord will work for us: for there is no restraint to the Lord to save by many or by few.
Do all that is in thine heart…I am with the according to thy heart.
I love the Hebrew word for bearer. Nasa. Yes, It sounds a lot like N.A.S.A. which puts people in space…but is that not what we are supposed to do as Christians? To bear one another up, to rise above to push to utter achievement all for the honor and glory of God. Bearer, to bear one another up, to lift, to carry, to be stirred within to acts of courage and choices that honor and glorify One and One alone.
Do all that is in thine heart: turn thee; behold, I am with thee according to thy heart.
God, grant me the heart of an armor bearer.