The significant November snows opened Mt. Bachelor for the ski season earlier than I was prepared for. We went from a warm, breezy fall to mid-winter in a weekend. So, the other Monday I wandered up to the mountain to make a a dozen laps on my own before getting on with my day.

The other day, after a morning at the mountain trying navigate skiing with old equipment (me), I returned to eat, shower then sit down to spend some time reading on the Substack site before dropping off into a nap. Since joining Substack mid-summer, the breadth of my blog reading has significantly expanded. Much of it barely holds my attention, but occasionally a post comes along that is as cool as the backside of a pillow.

In my morning time with God the other day, the devotional I read retold the story from the older testament of Boaz and Ruth, a Moabite woman and not a Jew.

This is a story of a family with their fair share of drama.

Reading through the stories of the life of Jesus as John remembered them, I paused long enough to ponder a well-known episode.

Jesus has come up to Jerusalem from Galilee in the north country for the Jewish festival of Booths.

I’d like to think I’m like this dog at the window, patiently watching and waiting. But our days have trained me a toward profound impatience like no other time. Unlike this picture, I’m more likely to pace, fret, wonder and worry, and question if what I so deeply desire will ever come into view. Who am I trying to kid, dogs know better how to wait and trust than me.

If I craft a picture of Jesus in my mind, I see him brushing sawdust from his clothes and hanging with working people, playing games with groups of kids, waving to outsiders of all stripes to come close, powerfully challenging religious norms and those who push them, teaching huge truths wrapped in plain brown wrappers.

These days offer plenty of reasons to be fearful, angry and just generally unsettled. Today being election day, so much of what we look to for stability shakes under the stresses of life, writ large, punctuated by a hurricane or two, and wars across the globe. In days like these, it’s good for Jesus-followers to remember, prune back, and press forward. 

So, the other day while driving to do errands, I had the radio tuned to a news station that was, so typically, talking about the election now only days away. The host and commentator analyzed the latest polling numbers, ground games, hidden voters, potential surprises that might still come and came to the amazing conclusion that the presidency is either candidate’s to win…I know, stunning.

I recently learned that I missed the Feast Day for George Muller back in September. He is celebrated by many as a champion of the poor through intercession and action. And I’ll bet plenty of believers don’t know him at all, but will be encouraged by his life and work.

When Claudia finished her sewing challenge for school girls in Zambia, I told her we needed to get out of Dodge for a bit. So, after teaching class Sunday at church, we skipped the service, bolted for the car and pointed it south, feeling like kids on the first day of summer vacation.

Not having been raised in a church-going home, when my faith journey began in high school through Young Life, all this Jesus stuff was new. Looking back on those days through high school and college (thankfully OSU was taking anyone in those days who could fog a mirror or I never would have gotten in), I sponged up language and beliefs and ways of doing faith as fast as I could. And I’m sure my family and friends thought I’d gone off the deep end.

We Jesus followers talk often and sing about the love of God, how it stands sentry at the gate of his essence, how it gives form to all the rest of his attributes, and how because of it we can know God and walk with him throughout our days.

So, let’s talk hope. Not wishful thinking, but thinking with a ready and steady mind that is fixed on the grace here and now that will be fulfilled in its time. Each day we train our thoughts and actions to choose to be a bit more like Jesus and a bit less like the world we left behind.

When the Jews, for generations, traveled to Jerusalem for the major feasts throughout the year, it must have been quite an effort. Imagine corralling your family, closing up your house and setting off to meet with God and his people at the center for all of their worship and sacrifice, the Temple in Jerusalem.

True confession time: I’m not comfortable saying, “God spoke to me.”

Honestly, I both admire and wonder about those who do have that confident closeness to the Holy that they can assert, with certainty, what God might want for them or others.

Two weeks ago in this space I wrote about unity in the church and the steep climb that often presents, both back for the early church and now. I like what I wrote but it felt incomplete, lacking any specifics needed to flesh out what it looks like to press for this in any congregation. And the need is great.

So, the other Monday morning I woke up and thought about the day in front of me. A blank canvas. Nada. An empty calendar sheet. I had a thought and said to God that I was open for business and that I would keep my eyes a bit sharper for chances to step into his story during the day, not sure if I really expected anything to happen out of the ordinary.

Reading the letters from Paul to various churches, it’s easy to paint a rosy picture of new believers following the Way, who lived out a first-century version of an idyllic commune: No conflicts or quarrels, no personality clashes or favoritism, no worries or hassles.

The other day I was drifting around on the interweb as the snow piled up outside, and came across a posting of a whiteboard sign where someone scrawled the following:

This year I want to be more like Jesus...

It's fun to listen to Jesus and his way of cutting through all the religious junk that gets in the way of a person from experiencing the God-life people were designed to have. He challenged the accepted order of things, whether from preachers or profiteers, and reached into the heart of any of his beloved with the offer of relief and pardon and purpose and rest.