Flies

“In that day the Lord will whistle for flies from the distant streams of Egypt and for bees from the land of Assyria.  They will all come and settle in the steep ravines and in the crevices, in the rocks, on all the thornbushes and at all the water holes.” Isaiah 7:18-19

When I was a teenager, my family and I lived on thirteen acres of land. We grew most of the vegetables that we ate, and raised chickens. Chickens and cats. I had at one time, fourteen cats, in a pride made up primarily of females and their young. Tomcats would just wander away, looking for females.

Once, one of the kittens contracted feline leukemia. We took him to the vet but to no avail. This terrible disease ravished the young one’s body but still, he hung on. I can’t for the life of me remember his name. But I do remember the flies that would torment this dying kitten. They were big yucky things with turquoise-colored bodies. And on the day the kitten died, but before he struggled with his last breath, the flies were ruthless and relentless as they attacked his body.

I asked my dad about the flies. He said that the flies somehow know when death is approaching, and they swarm the dying animal. It’s a sign, he said, that death is near. He said it was one of those difficult life-lessons one must remember.

The problem is, I forgot.

Until March 12, 2006.

My dad had been diagnosed with lung and brain cancers (two primary cancers) six months prior, right after he and Mom moved in with me and my two boys, eight months after I had separated from my then-husband. It was a time of upheaval and transitions. That weekend, I had come home from work on Friday with a temperature. I stayed in bed most of the weekend, not feeling well. Rooms would spin around if I walked. On the beautiful afternoon of March 12, all the windows were open, letting the warm breezes of an early spring in. I eventually got out of bed and watched tv in the living room.

Mom asked me to take the trash out. I opened the sliding glass door to the backyard, holding the full trashbag, to put it in the trash container. As I did this, I noticed that the wall of the back of the house was swarming with…flies. Big, yucky, turquoise-colored flies. I looked to see what, if anything, could be attracting them to brick. There was nothing. They only swarmed on the right side of the house, the side that Mom and Dad’s room was on.

Suddenly, it all came back to me as though it was a sci-fi effect from a movie. The kitten. The flies. “It’s a sign,” Dad had said, more than twenty years prior, “that death is near.”

Immediately, I went to Dad’s hospital bed in his bedroom. We talked. I asked him important questions like “Are you proud of me?” and “Do you have any regrets?” We talked for at least two hours, and watched a television preacher besides. Two hours later, at eight o’clock, my Daddy died.

After the Hospice nurse had left and the funeral home men had come for his body, I went out on the deck to talk on the phone. As I walked to the end of the deck, then turned around, I dropped the phone: there were no flies. The flies were all gone.

I immediately praised God. He made that little kitten sick, so that Daddy and I could have a seemingly gross and circle-of-life kindof talk that could have been easily dismissed. He made that little kitten sick to bring the flies, so that I would have a sign, from God, that death would visit my home on March 12, 2006. He made that little kitten sick, and brought the flies, and made the flies swarm just one side of my house, so that I would know to get some very important issues square with Dad. God had used flies to tell me that Daddy would soon be with Him.

God can use anything, and most often does, to guide us – if, and only if – we have the opened Spirit eyes to see it for what it is: a sign of mercy from a merciful God.

© 2012 Terrie McKee

Contentment

“But godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that.” 1 Timothy 6:6-8

My husband and I have a large, blended family. His, mine, our’s. I have two boys from my first marriage, husband has a girl by his first marriage, and together we have a precocious, in-to-everything, two-and-a-half year old girl. All this, in a three-bedroom, two-bath, 1200 square feet ranch one-story.

Oh how I dream of a bigger house!

My dream house in on sale right now. Five bedrooms. Family room, formal parlor, formal dining room, playroom, swimming pool, one acre, workshops for the husband’s avid woodworking hobby – even a building outside for a much-coveted depot for model trains. A claw-foot, soaking tub in the master bedroom. And, blessed assurance – an actual, honest-to-goodness laundry room instead of a laundry closet. All this for so much more money than we could possibly obtain via a mortgage loan.

But that doesn’t stop this stay-at-home-mom-of-four from dreaming. In my dreams we host the entire church for a swimming and ice cream social. We host the youth group. We open our doors to the neighborhood for Bible studies. Everyone has their own room and their own space. We have a large Christmas get-together with our respective families. And, in my dreams, I write manuscripts that the nice FedEx man picks up at my door on the way to the publisher. His name is Dave. Ah, the things I could do in this house….

The Lord convicted me one night, though, when I was doing my nightly Bible reading and “happened” across this passage from 1 Timothy: “But godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that” (6:6-8). Ouch. I had been breaking a Big Ten: covetousness, in my dreams, even as I was not being grateful for the 1,200 square feet of closeness for my family.

In an economy in which so many are losing their homes, I was not being content with what I have: a solid roof over my head (thank you, hail storm 2011 and the subsequent new roof), warmth in the wintertime and coolness in the summer, and food on the table, even if it is rice and beans sometimes.

And, the Lord reminded me, “Why can’t you do Bible studies in your home now?” I reminded the good Lord of the horrible carpet stains (four children, remember, who are all clumsy while walking with sodas and juice), the sofa that has lost all sense of support and also covered in stains (four children), and the tight living room/dining room/kitchen “open floor plan” (which is house code for “if one of those areas are cluttered, the whole room is cluttered”).

Again, the Lord said, “Why can’t you do Bible studies in your home now?” while planting in my brain the understanding that Paul, while writing this passage about contentment to Timothy, was in prison, and not just visiting. Prison trumps stained carpet any day of the week. How dare I remind the good Lord (as though He needed reminding) about the carpet, or sofa, or whatever excuse I could come up with?

So, after asking forgiveness from Jesus about not being content and drooling over The Cottage, as I called my dream home, I’ve been trying to take extra care in cleaning my home, blessing my family, and shining the Light of Christ from inside. I’m planning on opening our doors to other stay-at-home moms in the neighborhood for a Christmas Bible study in the near future. I believe God will bless these actions. Maybe not with a new, larger house. TV home improvement shows may not show up in our driveway with bullhorns and plans to renovate. But He will bless our home with love, with closeness, with food and clothing, and with a laundry closet, instead of a laundry room that would be yet another room to clean. He will bless our home with Himself, which, after all, is the best blessing of all.

© 2012 Terrie McKee

 

 

 

 

Poured Out

“ The LORD said to Moses, “Speak to the Israelites and say to them: 'After you enter the land I am giving you as a home and you present to the LORD offerings made by fire, from the herd or the flock, as an aroma pleasing to the LORD --whether burnt offerings or sacrifices, for special vows or freewill offerings or festival offerings -- then the one who brings his offering shall present to the LORD a grain offering of a tenth of an ephah of fine flour mixed with a quarter of a hin of oil. With each lamb for the burnt offering or the sacrifice, prepare a quarter of a hin of wine as a drink offering.” Numbers 15:1-5

In Old Testament times, the drink offering was always poured out onto the altar as a sacrifice to God in addition to the sacrificed animals and grain offerings. The drink offering was always a quarter of a hin of wine, presented to God “as an aroma pleasing to the Lord.” This was not to be drank by the priests, but to be poured out, as God’s drink with the sacrifice.

Sacrifices of animals, grain and wine – the essential building blocks of a Hebrew diet – remind us that everything is God’s. He blesses us with meat, vegetables, and the water we drink. He provides the skills, education and where-with-all to earn money, to provide for our families. All belongs to Him.

Even our very lives belong to Him. We are not our own. In addition to time, talents and treasure, we are to pour out our very lives, die to ourselves, and give God all of us. This act of giving God our very beings and living for Christ – no matter the cost – is also an aroma pleasing to God.

As we live our lives for Him, He blesses us in ways we cannot begin to imagine. It may not be with material possessions, or money, but it will be with things so much more priceless: the peace that passes all understanding, the joy of our salvation, the knowledge that we are close to Him. Being called “a child of the King” is blessing enough. Knowing Christ intercedes for my behalf and knows me by name, is blessing enough.

Living our lives, poured out as a drink offering, means giving God all of us. Paul wrote from prison, “For I am already being poured out like a drink offering, and the time has come for my departure. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” [2^nd Timothy 4:6-7]. Paul suffered much as an apostle: floggings, imprisonment, stonings, betrayal. Through all these persecutions, he lived his life poured out for God. He recognized his time to be with the Lord was so near he could taste it. He was willing to give all, to be poured out as a drink offering, as an aroma pleasing to the Lord, for Christ.

Christ did the same for us. “Instead, one of the soldiers pierced Jesus’ side with a spear, bringing a sudden flow of blood and water.” [John 19:34]. Jesus poured out Himself, to save us from sin. How much more should we give our whole lives to Him, not just a tenth?

 

(c) 2012 Terrie McKee