If you and I were to sit down and talk, get to know each other for just a bit, it wouldn’t be too long before you learned that I love the Old Testament. More specifically I love the Pentateuch. Those first five books of the Bible, and Deuteronomy in particular, they have my heart. I had the opportunity to take an intensive class on Deuteronomy this year, and in that short week I fell more in love with Torah. Here is a small glimpse into why I love Torah.
Imagine all of Israel encamped on the eastern side of the Jordan River.
Moses stands before them, his arms spread wide, as he recounts for them their parents’ exodus from Egypt and subsequent rebellion when they were first invited into the Promised Land.
The story is familiar, but each Israelite listens intently as Moses reminds them of the punishment they and their parents endured at the hand of Adonai. And Moses reminds them that throughout the entire journey, a journey which should have taken eleven days but instead took forty years, God was with them, providing for their every need each and every step of the way.
I'm writing over at Deeper Church today. Head over there to read the rest of this post.
May 24, 2013
May 22, 2013
the shape of hope
We talk of many things. Serious things. Funny things. Sad things. Joyful things. Empty things. Hope-filled things.
Some times when we talk we talk about house things. Not appliances or DIY projects for the living room or yard, but whole houses.
Sometimes it is the old house in New England with the wrap around porch, a porch swing in the front and two hammocks in the back. There are chickens and a vegetable garden and dogs. We live in this house, the two of us, no longer as young as we were when we first met. Her hair is still as crazy as it was, but there are streaks of silver mixed in with the auburn and chestnut, and mine is still as stick straight as ever, but amidst the gold there is now white. In the absence of families birthed of our own bodies we have chosen to create family together here. We wile away evenings warming hands with mugs of tea, and begin mornings with coffee on the back porch with the dogs at our feet. We sit sipping tea on an evening in May, and our eyes and smiles meet, because somehow this day has become real.
While my dear friend Lore is taking a hiatus from her blog for the month of May, she's asked several of us to post in her place. This week I am writing about our friendship and about the shape of hope. You can read the rest of the blog over at her website.
Some times when we talk we talk about house things. Not appliances or DIY projects for the living room or yard, but whole houses.
Sometimes it is the old house in New England with the wrap around porch, a porch swing in the front and two hammocks in the back. There are chickens and a vegetable garden and dogs. We live in this house, the two of us, no longer as young as we were when we first met. Her hair is still as crazy as it was, but there are streaks of silver mixed in with the auburn and chestnut, and mine is still as stick straight as ever, but amidst the gold there is now white. In the absence of families birthed of our own bodies we have chosen to create family together here. We wile away evenings warming hands with mugs of tea, and begin mornings with coffee on the back porch with the dogs at our feet. We sit sipping tea on an evening in May, and our eyes and smiles meet, because somehow this day has become real.
While my dear friend Lore is taking a hiatus from her blog for the month of May, she's asked several of us to post in her place. This week I am writing about our friendship and about the shape of hope. You can read the rest of the blog over at her website.
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