New Wine in New Wine Skins

Jesus answers the criticism of the Pharisees with an image. He speaks of new wine in new wine skins. Jesus in Luke 5:33-39 is defending his disciples by explaining the state of their spiritual development. The encounter Jesus has with the Pharisees and Teachers of the Law takes place at the beginning of his ministry, soon after he calls his disciples. These common men are new to the religious scene. They are new to the power of the Holy Spirit which they are being immersed in because of their close proximity to Jesus. They live with Jesus; walk with him daily and studying under him. Every day they receive powerful teaching and witness the miraculous. As a result their eyes are being opened to new spiritual realities including who Jesus really is. It is a powerful and exciting time for the disciples. In a very real sense they are new believers and are being used by God like never before. As they walk alongside Jesus they are also learning to walk in the power of God. The Pharisees and the Teacher’s of the Law do not comprehend the work that is being done within these simple men, so they criticize them saying, “Why don’t your disciples fast like we do or like the disciples of John the Baptist?”

Jesus uses two word pictures to answer them. He wants to emphasize the fact that his Heavenly Father wants to do something completely new. He explains that it isn’t appropriate to sew a new patch on an old garment, nor do you put new wine into old wine skins. The appropriate container for new wine is new wine skins. Jesus is stating the obvious and making the point that you don’t expect someone fresh in their walk with the Lord to have the outer discipline of the faith. Jesus is not condemning fasting and praying. He is just saying for the time and the season they are in it is in inappropriate. The time for fasting and prayer will come. Maturity will come and the product of maturity will be judged like aged wine, as being better; a wine with a smooth more satisfying taste.

The personal application for my life is clear; this is a new time and season in my life. It is a time of refreshment and an anointing of the Spirit like I have never experience before. My old life has fallen away. I need to let it go and embrace the new thing God is doing. I am unfamiliar with this walk. I am new to the working of the Spirit and the teachings in light of the work. I have a deep conviction that I am not to rely on what I know, but to learn anew. I am not supposed to try to fit this new life into my old life. My frame of reference based on past experience has to go. I can’t judge what he is doing now by the standard of the past. If I want to fully enter where the Spirit is leading me I must let go. With no expectations I wait so He can give me the best He has for me.

Forget the former things;
do not dwell on the past.

See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
and streams in the wasteland. Isaiah 43:18-19

Graduation

“I won’t know what to do with myself.”

My friend laughs. He knows me too well and smiles. This is an adventure already with lots of twists and turns. Next Saturday I walk the stage. Tonight I cross a threshold when I hand in my final exam and tell my professor this is my last class. She smiles and I cry as I walk in the cool dark air into the parking lot back to my car.

“I won’t know what to do with myself.”

I pray in the car on the way home and am grateful for the events that led me back to school, for the people who encouraged me and made a way. I am grateful I have persevered for 6 years and have finished with honors. I ask God what He wants to do with all this? What’s next?
For now, I just want to lean back, read a book of my choosing, finish some drawings, and learn to really use my camera, decorate the house for Christmas, and breathe deep. I know this is a gift from God, the whole thing. I have a better understanding how He has fashioned me during this time. I had someone whisper in my ear last weekend that my life is just beginning, get ready. I am ready to take off, to flourish and thrive. I am ready for what’s next. I am expectant.

Psalm 91

I have been telling people for the last few days that God is faithful and that I will be returning to work soon. In faith a gave Bryant more money for his mission trip to India. I said it was a faith builder for him and for me. He didn't know I was not working, he might not have agreed to come and pick up the cash. Instead he prayed for me. I sent a check for Colin's trip to Mexico. We are planning a celebration for when Scott gets in from Austin.

Not to presume... but if I go back to work it will not have set me back at all. In fact I will be better off. You do the math... I can't explain it or why when I got out of my car today I notice a car with the licence plate 91 PSLM as I was going into the building for an interview. And I knew the Psalm because I memorized it when I was ill and it was God's promise for provision and protection. No harm has come to me, God has provided.

So I am telling you... no harm has come to me. God will provide because I trust in Him.

Tonight

walking
makes me smile
even without the moon

coaxed
into singing
aloud in the dark

Assignment One: As Far Back as I Can Remember

Ketchup

Mrs. Barry has long slender legs and jet black hair. She is married to Captain Jack Barry who is an Air Force pilot. Mrs. Barry brought her soft southern accent all the way from Tallahassee to Ohio where the Captain is stationed. Suzie her youngest daughter is my best friend. Suzie inherited a full head of jet black curls from her mother along with her confidence. By four years old it is plain that I am inconquerorably shy and awkward. Mrs. Barry, Jackie, to her peers always frightens me a little with her directness, saying exactly what is on her mind.

My mother leads my sisters and I down the front porch stairs. The four of us are wrapped in our matching bathrobes and slippers. The four of us shuffle across the asphalt drive way across the grass, on to the Barry’s driveway, up to the front porch. Mrs. Barry is on the porch holding the screen door open. It is June and the air smells like roses. I enter the door, slip my slippers off and walk across the cool wooden floor planting myself on the couch next to Suzie. She leans close to me. Suzie’s older sister Lynn soon joins us. She is my oldest sister’s best friends. We are families of girls and very close. I am used to both my mother and Mrs. Barry watching us as we play outside or as we go house to house looking for something new and interesting to do. Cartoons are on and I don’t hear what my mother and Mrs. Barry are discussing. Instead I am mesmerized by the black and white images on the screen whose familiarity help me settle into what we know so far of moving day.

My mother leaves as the moving van pulls up to the front of our simple cracker box house tucked away in a cul-de-sac near the runway of the airbase. We have all grown accustomed to the sound of the planes taking off. We are even familiar with the crack above us as aircraft break the sound barrier. The cul-de-sac is our little world and the huge truck is rattling it by the front curve. At Mrs. Barry’s instructions I get up and come over to the door and peer out at the behemoth of a truck. With a clear strictness Mrs. Barry instructs us. “Girls you are not to go outside. The moving van is here. You may watch it from the door or at the kitchen window.”

I do not have an ounce of desire to move out from behind the screen door to encounter this truck that I see is being opened and readied to carry off all my things and take them to the new house. We only visit our mysterious new house in the dark by the light of my father’s flashlight. Every so often as it is being built we bundle up and are taken by car to this new destination after my father gets off work at the men’s clothing store he manages. It is always late night and pitch black. Our street begins where the farm land ends where cows graze in the fields by the dairy farm. My father lifts me up to the side door because the side steps are not yet in place. The new world of this house smells like fresh cut board. We walk through the skeleton of a room, the sky still in view through the rafters as we try to imagine our new rooms.

Mrs. Barry has been at work in her kitchen for about a half an hour when she calls us for breakfast. As I enter the sunny kitchen decorated with strawberry trimmings I see Mrs. Barry sticking toast into the shiny silver toaster. “Do you want blackberry jam with your toast,” she asks us.

“Yes, mame.” Suzie says. I imitate her reply. I do not have such formality with my mother, whose sweet disposition contrasts with Mrs. Barry’s directness. My mother accepts, “yes.” But I am afraid of being rude in Mrs. Barry’s house. I never want to be rude. So I follow Suzie’s cues in how to navigate politeness.

Mrs. Barry sets a plate of scrambled eggs, toast and jam and hash browns down in front of me. She asks concerning orange juice and I manage a “yes mame,” as she places a small strawberry decorated glass in front of my plate. I look up at Mrs. Barry’s lovely southern face and ask. “May I have some ketchup for my potatoes, mame?”

Mrs. Barry’s face lights up and with more passion than I think she means and asks, “Why child would use ruin my beautiful hash browns with ketchup?” With those words hot tears stream down my face, I cannot hold them in.

Mrs. Barry places a bottle of ketchup on the table, lifts me in her arms and holds me close as she walks over to the kitchen window. “Look Ruthie, there’s your mother. She’s been there all morning instructing the men on what to do.” Then she leans her face into my hair and whispers as she kisses my head, “I’m sure going to miss all my little girls.”

Sunday

I went to church today and was supposed to help in the kid's Sunday school. Scott came up to me and asked me if I was going to big church as we call it. I said no, I was helping in my class. He told me he was speaking. I thought in big church for a "few" minutes. I said I would try to pop in.
Ran into him again. Found out he was taking Steven's place preaching in the youth service.
We were well staffed so I played hookie from Sunday school and went to hear Scott teach.
It was really very good and OF COURSE I was very excited about it. He was passionate as he talked about being complacent.
Preach on!

perplexed

I am tired, near exhaustion. It is physical, mental and emotional.

verb
1. to cause to be puzzled or bewildered over what is not understood or certain; confuse mentally
2. to make complicated or confused, as a matter or question.
3. to hamper with complications, confusion, or uncertainty.
Synonyms:
1. mystify, confound. 2. tangle, snarl. 3. vex, annoy, bother.

John 14:1
Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me.

Rest.