Buying Time

This post is fourth in the Psalm 127 series "Live Like a King."

~ ~ ~

It is vain for you to rise up early,
To sit up late,
To eat the bread of sorrows.
~ Psalm 127:2 (NKJV)

For some years now, I've considered myself a pauper of time. Lack of time for loved ones truly grieves me. Whether the checkbook has required me to pinch pennies or allowed me to indulge, I've often spent dollars and sense in my attempts at buying time.

Like many people, buying time includes saying 'no' to some things, employing as much efficiency and simplicity as possible, multi-tasking, hurrying (a sickness, I've learned), and forfeiting sleep. And even when I should have time left over, unexpected circumstances seem to steal it back.

The race is not to the swift …
Nor riches to men of understanding,
Nor favor to men of skill;
But time and circumstance happen to them all.
~ Ecclesiastes 9:11

"Buying time" with mere sense is as possible as buying dollars with cents. If traveling at a-mile-a-minute-plus and owning labor-saving devices gains hours, shouldn't industrialized nations be more relaxed and third-world countries more pressed for time? Though a person can have more money by either working harder to earn it or spending less to save it, can more time be obtained except by spending less?

*sigh*

There are twenty-four hours in the day to be had. Sleep is not optional.

Period.

But.

To everything there is a season,
A time for every purpose under heaven …
[God] has made everything beautiful in its time.
~ Ecclesiastes 3:1 (NKJV)

Not one of us is truly a pauper of time. God gives each of us enough. We simply spend it on the wrong things and have too little left over for the right things.

What's really sad is that I know well the way to have enough time. It's the same method to have enough money.

Give all of it away. To God. He owns it anyway. It's only when we think of time or money as our own that we waste it in the wrong places. Remembering that we are His stewards helps us make the right decisions with both.

I happen to believe in tithing. God's always been given the first tenth, and the other nine have always proven to be enough. Back in the days when I consistently gave God the first two or three hours of the day (at least 2.4 out of 24 was my intent), the remaining ninety percent of my time felt far less scanty.

Along the way of "doing for God," my firstfruits of time spent simply being with God got compromised. Nothing's been as right since.

"Wealth consists not in the abundance of our possessions but in the fewness of our wants."
~ Unknown *

True for a pauper. True for a king.

True of material wealth. True of time.

Lord, I love You so much. Time spent with You has never, ever been wasted. It's saved me untold squandered hours. Please help me—help all of us—to spend more hours with You and be rich in time.

: : :

* This is evidently a paraphrase of words by J. Brotherton:
"My riches consist not in the extent of my possessions but in the fewness of my wants."

Comments are welcome (including respectful disagreement) and will receive a reply.
You may also contact author via Twitter – @anne4JC
or e-mail – use @gmail.com *after* buildingHisbody
Copyright 2012, Anne Lang Bundy, all rights reserved.

Friday Freelance: S.A.D.D.

"Don't despair. Only the mediocre person is always at his best."
~ W. Somerset Maugham

Friday Freelance: S.A.D.D.

It's January in Michigan. The longitude on the Eastern time zone's western edge brings dawn around 8 a.m. Latitude near the 45th parallel means absurdly few hours of meaningful daylight. Center the two between three Great Lakes, and oppressive cloud cover robs the land of sunlight. Supposedly mild temperatures hover around freezing, but they conspire with the damp and darkness to preserve the snow and S.A.D.D. (Seasonal Affective Depression Disorder).

S.A.D.D. has not dogged me since the early 90's, just after I moved to Michigan. But I'm encountering a surprising number of people with it this year, and it seems to be contagious. If I'm honest, my problem is not a lack of sunshine but of Sonshine. When I was in my groove, prayer closet time was a prominent priority, I was energized for a long day after minimal sleep, and had time to accomplish all the things God put on my heart. Low levels of sunshine were easily dismissed.

I've been operating on reserve strength while prayer closet time has been slowly shrinking, my energy has been diminishing, my sleep has been increasing. I'm left with fewer, frustrated hours to try to accomplish the same as before. Add to that January in Michigan and unprecedented personal challenges, and I've got the formula for a full blown case of S.A.D.D.

But only if I let it take hold.

A merry heart does good, like medicine,
But a broken spirit dries the bones.
~ Proverbs 17:22 (NKJV)

My typical outlook is not just "cup-half-full," but "my cup runneth over." I like long and frequent visits to the stream of Living Waters, letting it fill me and flow through me to others. I'd like to think of myself as liquid Colorado sunshine bottled up in a pint-sized vessel of Holy Spirit, spilling out all over the drab Michigan landscape.

My heart holds a yearning ache for the day I stand in full Sonshine. It is countered by the desire to arrive on that day with arms full of tribute to present before my King. I labor neither from sense of duty, nor to prove myself, nor even for promised reward. Duty pales next to love, my status is secure in the blood of Jesus Christ, and the only reward I seek is to kneel before the feet that were pierced for me and be permitted to kiss them.

I labor as a debtor to grace. Gratitude to my Lord gives me full rest but no leisure. The day will soon enough arrive when eternity stretches before me—without the opportunity I have now.

Here, now, I can do for my Lord on the earth what He will no longer need in Heaven. I can spill out love and life and Light in the dark world that will one day pass from existence.

When a tickle in my throat hints of an impending cold, I attack the germs mercilessly, because I don't have time to get sick. By the grace of God, I've not had a cold in two or three winters.

Lately, I've felt the tickle of S.A.D.D. trying to take hold. Life is too short to spend it weakened by such an affliction. I've started forfeiting some time visiting Facebook, blogs, and Twitter for prayer closet time, until those germs are put down, and I again have more hours in my day.

By the grace of God, I'll not succumb to S.A.D.D.

Contrasting points-of-view, questions and feedback are invited. Post to BuildingHisBody.com "Comments" or e-mail to BuildingHisBody@gmail.com. Copyright 2010, Anne Lang Bundy, all rights reserved.
Image from ihatecommuting.wordpress.com
#encouragement

Friday Freelance: FALLEN ON FACE

Image source: revphil2011

"By nature, worship is not some performance we do,
but a presence we experience."
~ A.W. Tozer

Friday Freelance: FALLEN ON FACE
#knowingGod

Like millions across the nation, we’ve had a house full of sickness this week. My husband John went first, then the kids, one by one. By God’s grace (and with a few natural remedies) I’ve thus far evaded being sick, despite sleeping between two sick people.

Four-year-old Daniel slips into my bed so quietly that I don’t realize he’s there until his warmth pressed into mine wakes me up. Sickness isn’t the only reason he’ll wind up there. Funny noises outside his window will bring him. The rare bad dream dispatches him in search for safety. And returning from a nighttime trip to the bathroom is simply an excuse to snuggle.

We’ve always had an open door policy with our kids during the wee hours. Our philosophy is that they’ll know God is always available to them in a dark times by learning it first from us. There are other times when the door is locked, for Mom and Dad to have a serious talk or serious affection. In those hours our children learn that however important our relationship with them, the relationship with each other comes first.

When all the children of Israel saw how the fire came down,
and the glory of the LORD on the temple,
they bowed their faces to the ground on the pavement,
and worshiped and praised the LORD.
~ 2 Chronicles 7:3 (NKJV)

There is another place in the house which our children know to respect when it is closed. I’m usually already out of my prayer closet when they awaken, but if I tarry they’ll come to give me a good morning kiss (the youngest two will also cuddle quietly a bit), then slip away and allow me my time with the Lord. They understand that my relationship with Him comes first.

I try to "pray without ceasing" in mental chatter with the Lord all day, but of course it’s interrupted. I have lazy mornings when I try to get away with prayer time in bed, and as often as not it lapses back into sleep. I most enjoy morning prayer time in the eastern family room which offers sunrise in the summer and wood stove warmth in the winter.

But that prayer closet ...

This is the place of serious talk and serious intimacy. Unlike my numerous computer Bibles, the paper and ink version stored here is stuffed with notes and covered with writing. Like a suitcase plastered with travel stickers from around the globe, it evidences the places the Lord has taken me and the things we’ve seen together. A prayer journal ensures no one is overlooked (including you, dear readers). And the square of padded carpet behind tapestry curtain provides a comfortable place to sit—or a place for my face.

Say what you will about the Lord is everywhere and hears us no matter our position. For me, if I need to hear from Him, I fall on my face before Him. Something in this posture not only shuts out lesser things, but brings my heart to a place where either His whispers become clear, or His Spirit and mine find such unity that I needn't hear His voice. Like a comfortable couple who've reached the place where words are no longer necessary, I feel His pleasure, comfort, understanding, stretching, challenge, grief, peace. If you've felt any of these things, you know they are real.

If you desire these things, quietly slip into His presence with a humble heart until you feel His warmth pressed into yours.

Contrasting points-of-view, questions and feedback are invited. Post to BuildingHisBody.com "Comments" or e-mail to BuildingHisBody@gmail.com. Copyright 2009, Anne Lang Bundy, all rights reserved.

Friday Freelance: FAVORITES

I was recently asked if I'd do a post about my prayer closet. I'll lead in by sharing two other favorite places in my home.

Our front porch is about as humble as it can be and still qualify as a front porch. It's just big enough for the swing from which to sit and watch the world—whether rambunctious children, our resident robin feeding her babies, or a thunderstorm of lightning and torrential rain. It is a quiet sitting place to not even think, but to simply be still in summer months.

The cozy family room is a favorite place year round, but even more so in cold months when the wood stove makes Michigan tolerable. The wood floors provide a place to dance in this room reserved for people and music, books and writing. Music is more often from violin and piano than CD player, and neither T.V. nor internet exist here. Books are plentiful in either this room's four bookcases or the other nine sets of shelves in the house. My work space is nestled in one corner, flanked all around by yet more books, and situated below the names of Jesus on one side and a picture of the Old Testament tabernacle on the other.


This is a peaceful room for me, whether I'm settled at the computer set apart for writing and ministry, mesmerized by a fire, or waiting for the sun to rise above woods and field which lie outside the eastern window.

Dawn is the best and purest time of day. Though I'm usually awake then, I see few sunrises. In that hour I'm usually found in my first favorite place, on the west side of our home, adjacent that porch.

"But when you are praying, enter into your private closet,
and having shut your door, pray to your Father in secret.
And your Father, the One seeing in secret,
will give to you openly." ~ Matthew 6:6 (Author)

We live in a rural area, where only city folk who don't know better come to our front door. Since the 4' x 4' entry area is otherwise not utilized, it is closed off with a tapestry curtain as a private place for me to spend early morning hours with the Lord before my house awakens.

My goal is to "tithe" the first ten percent (2.4 hours) of the day to God. I'm no legalist though, and can easily get lost here for much longer—on the days I don't get sidetracked and then spend little or no time here at all.

This is the place to commune with the Lord's Word and Spirit. It's also the only place I seem to exhibit ADD, with or without the front door open to a view of the front porch. Whether provoked by my enemy or my own disquiet, stepping into this particular place of peace seems to release a torrent of concerns and distractions which can as easily become errant rabbit trails as paths for prayer.

Morning glories and roses prompt worship of the Creator. The corner of a police car which noses out beyond them reminds me of my husband's harsh task "to serve and to protect" in the violent world beyond our quiet front porch, and of his need to be upheld in prayer. Baby robins noisily pushing their mama with demands evoke thoughts of my own brood and the pushing between us.

My prayer journal calls to mind the multitude of ministries and people for whom I pray. Each person is special and each one is opportunity to see a miracle—and each one can become a story to mull over. Blank journal pages are readily filled with new insights and ideas for prose and prayer—or with the to-do tasks I jot down in an effort to push them aside.

The Bible covered with scribbled notations and crammed with notes is one I can no longer safely carry around, but it's perfect for remembering where I've been and discovering new places my life needs to go. Concordance and Hebrew / Greek dictionaries help me lose myself in God's Word—and thereby avoid the one thing I most look forward to and most dread in this little place.

I call it wrestling with the Lord for His blessing—giving myself fully to His grasp and letting Him have His way as I grapple with Him.

He never forces me to submit to His gentle yet insistent hold. Once I allow Him to catch me, my will seems no longer my own as He takes the lead in a tussling dance of souls, hearts, minds, and bowed physiques. Whether or not I emerge limping, I'll surely be wiping away tears when I walk
away from the encounter with more of Him and a better me.

Nothing else better qualifies as agony and ecstasy than wrestling with the Lord. No favorite place but a prayer closet can offer such rich blessing and such piercing pain.

Feedback appreciated! Post to BuildingHisBody.com "Comments" or e-mail to BuildingHisBody@gmail.com. Copyright 2009, Anne Lang Bundy, all rights reserved.