January blahs

“I am the light of the world. If you follow me, you won’t be stumbling through the darkness, because you will have the light that leads to life.” – John 8:12 (NLT)

Yay! Only one week left in January! By this time next week, daylight will be longer by 15 minutes. Hooray!

January, for me, is a long, dark month. I want to sleep and eat more, especially bread and pasta—all those “bad” carbs that put on the pounds and make me feel tired and achy. Not surprising, January is when I gain the most weight—and am grumpier and moodier than in other months--and take the most afternoon naps (shadows of hibernation?).

These are all classic symptoms of Seasonal Affective Disorder. SAD is a type of depression that hits folks like me during the winter months, when the daylight hours are shortest. Scientists believe the lack of sunlight affects the output of serotonin, called the brain’s natural “feel good” chemical because it regulates mood, appetite and sleep. The more serotonin, the better you feel. You’re not so grumpy, hungry and tired.

Since serotonin is affected by the amount of time spent in natural sunlight, the treatment for SAD is simple: more light. “Bright light therapy” involves spending at least half an hour, usually in the morning, before a “light box.” These “winter depression lamps,” which cost from $90 to $200, are effective, but you need to stick with the program until the season changes and not stop once you start feeling better.

I can’t afford a SAD light, but on those few days when the sky isn’t overcast, I can take time to sit in the sun shining through my windows, or, if the driveway isn’t icy, go for a walk. I can follow a sensible, nutritional eating plan that satisfies both my appetite and my taste buds. And I can exercise regularly, even if it isn’t a heart-pounding, sweat-producing, energy-draining aerobic workout.

So was the plan for January 2010. I set what I thought was a reasonable goal: lose one pound per week. It’s been a real battle. There are days I’m wiped out from the exercise, days when all I want to do is sleep and eat. I’ve gone off my plan several times. But each time, I got right back on.

At this point, three weeks into the program, the numbers on my bathroom scale tell me I weigh a pound and a half less than I did Jan. 1. This can be discouraging, but at least the numbers are down. That’s like six sticks of butter I’m no longer carrying around.

Biblically, darkness represents evil, sin and ignorance—a lack of the knowledge of God and His goodness. Just as physical darkness is the absence of light, so spiritual darkness is the absence of the Light—the Son that shines in our souls when we open our hearts and lives and let Him in.

But throwing open the windows of our souls one time isn’t enough the help us as we battle the darkness of the world in which we must live. Just like a person affected by SAD must spend at least half an hour every morning absorbing light, so must our spirits spend time with the Light of the World every day, absorbing His Word and basking in His presence through prayer. This—and only this—will give us the energy to say no to the bad carbs of temptation and avoid adding the weight of sin to our world-weary spirits. Spending time in the Sonlight will give us energy to exercise righteousness and will satisfy the taste buds of our souls (“O taste and see that the LORD is good” Psalm 34:8).

The season of darkness won’t be over until Jesus, the Son of God, returns, but until then, you can fight the January blahs—both physically and spiritually—with a two-word plan: Fiat lux—Latin for “Let there be light!”

"Light of the World, You stepped down into darkness, opened my eyes, let me see beauty that made this heart adore You, hope of a life spent with You. So here I am to worship, here I am to bow down, here I am to say that You’re my God"*. . . Thank you, Lord, for Your unending light that warms me, lightens my path and fills me energy. Amen.

*From “Here I Am to Worship,” by Tim Hughes © 2001 Thankyou Music

Special-Tea: Ephesians 5:8–14

Rascal's lesson

. . . be patient with everyone. – 1 Thessalonians 5:14 (NIV)

The little kitty showed up in my neighbor’s yard one day last fall. Since they already had a cat—and didn’t want any more—and since she knew who the sucker in the neighborhood is, she brought it to me.

I didn’t want any more cats, either. At the time, we had two: an indoor cat, Providence—a female whose litters kept us in kittens until a trip to the vet’s office solved the kitty boom—and Scaredy, our outdoor tom and one of Provie’s descendants.

But one look at that tiny, motherless, wiggling mass of soft gray and white fur, and I held out my arms.

Hubby, I knew, wouldn’t be too happy.

“It’s just until I find a home for it,” I assured him when he got home from work.

He gave me one of those who-do-you-think-you’re-fooling looks.

“I’m not even naming it,” I said.

“You just better hope it’s not a female,” he said, not without a sigh.

Provie, used to being queen of the house, didn’t like the newcomer. She ignored it as best as she could and hissed at it when it came near.

“This isn’t going to work out,” I told my daughter-in-law when she stopped in the next day. “Provie’s been top cat for a long time. The little kitty just won’t leave her alone. I can’t have cat fights every time I turn around.”

“Give it some time,” she said. “At least a week.”

I asked around, but no one wanted the little kitty. I tried to palm it off on my youngest son, even resorting to extortion, but he already had two cats. So he said.

The little kitty’s cuteness was offset by its stupidity—or stubbornness. Either it didn’t understand what the litter box was for or it didn’t want to use it. So I carried the kitty downstairs to the basement and placed it in the litter box. It hopped out, preferring instead the soft blue bedroom carpeting—until one night my husband refused to set foot in the bedroom because of the stink.

After cleaning the carpeting, I banned the kitty from the bedroom. It chose the dining room carpet. Feeling I was fighting a losing battle, I placed a litter box in the corner it used for its drop station and kept a spray bottle of rug cleaner handy. After a couple of months, the not-so-little kitty, now named “Rascal,” was using it consistently. The litter box has been safely moved to the basement.

Why did I put up with all that? I didn’t even want another cat in the first place.

Maybe because I have a soft heart when it comes to strays that no one wants. Maybe because, quite simply, I love animals, especially helpless, motherless little kittens. Patience, I’ve learned, is an important aspect of love.

I loved Rascal enough to give it time to change. But I was powerless to change it. Like I always say, you can train a dog, but a cat does what it darn well pleases. I had to wait until Rascal grew and matured and was ready to make the changes it needed to make.

I wonder if I’m as patient with people—especially those closest to me—as I was with that little kitty.

Do I accept them with their flaws and love them the way they are? Or am I holding back, waiting until the warts are removed? Do I envision what they could be, believe in them and encourage them? Or do I nag them and remind them of their mistakes? Do I wait until they are ready or do I foist on them lessons they’ll only resent? Do I wait prayerfully for them to change or do I try to change them myself?

It never works, you know—trying to change people. Only God can do that. And He does it from the inside out. In His time. In His way.

And it’s always the best way.

Dear God, forgive me for trying to change other people. That’s Your job, not mine. When I see no progress and impatience grows, remind me to keep praying for them and leave them in Your capable hands. Amen.

Special-Tea: 1 Thessalonians 5:11–15

God's coupon

Jesus told him, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one can come to the Father except through me.” – John 14:6 (NLT)

Back in November I bought a box of filters for our water purifier. I didn’t need the filters just yet, but the coupon, which was worth a whole dollar, was about to expire. A dollar doesn’t buy much these days, but a dollar saved is a dollar earned, and the filters cost $17.34, plus tax.

But I forgot to hand the coupon to the cashier when I checked out. I could’ve kicked my usually thrifty self. But I knew the store honored coupons not redeemed at the cash register at the time of purchase, as long as you had the receipt. So when I got home, I attached the coupon to the receipt and placed them in my wallet—where I carried them around for months.

Although I frequent this particular store at least once a week, either I was in a hurry and didn’t want to stop at the service desk to redeem the coupon, or I just forgot.

Finally, last week—with the resolve I have in abundance at the beginning of the New Year—I pushed my cart to the service desk after I’d checked out and presented the sales receipt and coupon. With a nice, polite explanation, of course.

“I can’t do that,” the lady manning the desk said. She pointed to the date on the coupon. “The coupon has expired.”

I pointed to the date on the receipt. “But I purchased the item before the coupon’s expiration date.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

“But I’ve done this before—redeemed the coupon after I purchased the item,” I argued. “All I need is the sales receipt.”

Another employee, who was standing nearby, put in her two cents. “Ma’am, the coupon is expired.”

“But . . .” I took one look at their resolute faces and realized I wasn’t going to win this one—and I didn’t want to make a spectacle of myself over a dollar.

“Thanks anyway,” I muttered. I stuffed the receipt and the coupon in my purse, then shoved my cart out the door. Me and my stupid forgetfulness.

On the way home, I finally understood what they were trying to tell me. It wasn’t that they weren’t going to honor the coupon because I was presenting it for redemption months after I purchased the filter. They couldn’t honor it because it had expired. The company that had issued the coupon wouldn’t reimburse the store because the date after which the coupon could be redeemed was long past.

A coupon, usually issued by the manufacturer, is good only if used—and only according to the manufacturer’s terms. Some coupons are good only when more than one of the item is purchased. Almost all have a date when the offer runs out, so the consumer must redeem the coupon while it’s still valid.

Our manufacturer, God, has issued a coupon, too. It’s called grace and is good for only one item, which you can’t purchase—because it’s already been purchased for you. This coupon is available to anyone who wants it, picks it up, and uses it. It does the bearer no good if it’s stuffed in the busyness of life and forgotten—like the coupon I forgot to redeem until it was too late.

God’s coupon reads, “FREE to the bearer: Heaven forever.” And don’t we love free stuff!

God’s coupon is the filter that removes the pollutant called sin that contaminates our souls and keeps us out of heaven.

But how many have redeemed God’s coupon? It does have an expiration date, you know. It must be redeemed either before the bearer dies or before Jesus, God’s Son, returns at the end of time. (He’s the One who paid the purchase price. See 1 Peter 1:18–19.)

Have you redeemed God’s coupon yet?

“For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 6:23)

Dear God, I accept the coupon of grace—Your Son’s death on the cross as punishment for my sins and the only way into Heaven. I’m redeeming it now. Thank You for providing the way for my sins to be forever forgiven and forgotten and for me to spend eternity in Heaven. Amen.

Special-Tea: John 3; Revelation 20:11–15; 1 John 5:11–12

(Also John 3:16, 1 John 1:7–9, Hebrews 9:22, Ephesians 2:8–9, John 1:12, Acts 16:3, Romans 10:13 and Revelation 3:20)

No special privileges

. . . and Jacob the father of Joseph, the husband of Mary, of whom was born Jesus, who is called the Christ. – Matthew 1:16 (NIV)

And a sword will pierce your own soul too. – Luke 2:35 (NIV)

The last woman to be named in “The Begats” of the first chapter of Matthew, Mary was a far cry from the other four. Unlike Tamar, Rahab, and Ruth, Mary, from the tribe of Judah and of the lineage of David, was thoroughbred Jewish. And unlike Tamar, Rahab, and Bathsheba, Mary was pure in every way—body, mind, heart, and soul.

Other than her role in the Christmas story, what do we know of her?

We know that she was probably a young teenager when the angel Gabriel appeared to her to tell her that she was to be the mother of the Messiah. We know that she grew up in Nazareth, a disreputable town of about 7,000 in the hills of Galilee. We know that she was betrothed to a carpenter named Joseph, also from Nazareth, who was probably about 30 years of age.

We know that Joseph was a good man, just and sensitive, and who most likely died before Jesus entered public ministry.

We know that she, still a virgin, gave birth to the Son of God in a stable in Bethlehem with her husband as the midwife. We know they were too poor to afford the lamb required for the sacrifice when she went to the temple 40 days after Jesus’ birth for the purification ceremony.

We know that she spent the first couple of years of her married life as a fugitive, hiding in Egypt from a crazy king who was set to kill her Son.

After their return to Nazareth following Herod’s death, we see Mary briefly only five more times in Scripture: in the temple in Jerusalem when she admonished 12-year-old Jesus for staying behind after the Passover and not telling them (Luke 2:41–52); at the wedding in Cana, where, at her request, Jesus performed his first recorded miracle (John 2:1–5); in Capernaum when she and her other sons tried to see Jesus but received not a welcome but a rebuff (Matthew 12:46–50; Mark 3:21, 31–34; Luke 8:18); at the foot of the cross, watching her Son die a horrific death (John 10:25–27); and in the upper room with the apostles after Jesus’ ascension into heaven (Acts 1:14).

No special privileges came with being the mother of God’s Son. Her acceptance of Gabriel’s message meant possible disgrace, divorce, and even death, as those guilty of having sex outside of marriage were stoned. After her burst of worship in the famous Magnificat, she steps humbly and submissively into the background.

She feared for her Son’s life when He was but a baby. She raised Him, nurtured Him, trained Him in the way He should go, admonished Him, tried to intervene when His schedule was so heavy He had no time to eat, watched Him die like a common criminal in the most public, humiliating way.

As Simeon predicted when Jesus was mere months old, a sword, indeed, pierced her mother’s soul.

No special privileges except to bear and raise the Son of God—then, like all mothers eventually do, let Him go.

I often think that I deserve special privileges because I’ve been obedient. I pray about what I think are unmet needs: the kitchen floor (a painted subfloor), the roof that needs replaced, the two aging vehicles in our driveway.

But God reminds me that I have much more than Mary, whose floor was probably dirt and who doubtless didn’t even have a donkey for travel. I have a roof over my head, a warm, dry bed to sleep in, enough vegetables and meat (venison) to feed me and my husband for a year. My husband has a steady job. We are both relatively healthy.

Yes, God promises blessings for obedience. But sometimes I’m blind to the real blessings because I’m too focused on the wrong things.

In this New Year, I pray that God will give me the eyes to see His blessings, the ears to hear His commands, the mouth to praise Him, the mind and soul to know Him, the heart to love Him, and the desire to serve Him.

Open my eyes, O Lord, to Your abiding presence in my life, Your abundant provision, Your awesome plan, and Your able protection. Thank You for reminding me that I’m not poor at all. Amen.

Special-Tea: Luke 1:26–56