Category Archives: Sara McKeefer

Finals are coming!

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This morning I dropped my Promise Book, and when I reached down to pick it up and looked at the page it was open to, my eyes fell on the very same scripture I had just read in Devotions for Morning and Evening with Oswald Chambers. 24 “Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. 25 The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock.” Matthew 7:24-25

“‘Build up your character bit by bit,’ says Jesus. Then when the supreme crisis comes, you will stand like a rock,” Chambers writes. “The crisis does not come always, but when it does, it is all up in about two seconds, there is no possibility of pretense, you are unearthed immediately.”

Has that been your experience? Everything seems to be going along fine, and then suddenly your feet are knocked out from under you, and you can’t even pretend everything is fine, because it’s not? It might be a terminal diagnosis, an unfaithful spouse, a debilitating illness, the loss of a loved one, financial problems, rejection, an unhealthy habit, betrayal by a trusted friend–and all with one thing in common. It has the potential to take you down so low to a place where even denial is no longer possible and the only choices left are to give up or stand up.

Chambers offers the solution. “If a man has built himself up in private by listening to the words of Jesus and obeying them, when the crisis comes, it is not his strength of will that keeps him but the tremendous power of God. Go on building yourself up in the word of God when no one is watching you, and when the crisis comes, you will find you will stand like a rock; but if you have not been building yourself up on the word of God, you will go down, no matter how strong your will.”

I have seen this happen again and again–even by people who have gone to church all of their lives. It happened to my mother when my dad died. Dad had steadily declined for a year after having been diagnosed with cancer, but when he died, my mother’s world fell apart. She was in a cloud for months, as she struggled to come to grips with the fact that he really was gone. It was sobering to see my usually strong-willed, confident mother smothered by her grief; and had it not been for the resolute faith and constant encouragement of my grandmother–who lived, ate and breathed the Holy Bible–my mother might never have come out of it.

Chambers ends with, “All you build will end in disaster unless it is built on the sayings of Jesus Christ; but if you are doing what Jesus told you to do, nourishing your soul on His word, you need not fear the crisis, whatever it is.”

I think it must sadden Christ when someone who professes to know Him is overwhelmed time and time again by the uncertainties of life, sometimes even choosing to wallow in their misery. Do you know people like that? Adults in body but still little children in their spiritual walk, angry at God one minute, full of self-pity the next? The good news is it’s never too late to grow up.

It took the death of my father for my mother to learn that she wasn’t alone, that God really was there with her. In her later years, Mother told us many times that as her feet hit the floor each morning, she would say, “This is the day the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it.” As she became more frail, life became increasingly more precious to her. When we laid her earthly body to rest, I quoted Mother’s favorite scripture, which had sustained her for 102 years, “But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.” Isaiah 40:31

I thank God for his Word a lot, because it was His Word in me that was there with me when my grandmother had a cerebral hemorrhage, when my child was fighting for her life, when my son was diagnosed with autism, when my husband left, when the three people I was closest to died within three years, when my doctor said I had lost the battle, and countless other times when, frankly, I didn’t think I could go on living.

What got me through was, pure and simple, the Word I had hidden in my heart from the time I was old enough to understand Sunday school songs like “Jesus Loves Me” and stories from the Bible about people who triumphed because of their faith. It was the Word of God that led me to Christ when I was six and heard the evangelist say that no one is born into the family of God, but all are adopted into His family, everyone is equal, and no one is better than anyone else.

So many times I hear people ask, “Why am I going through this? Why is this happening to me?” All I can say is, “I don’t know but God does, and, believe me, you can trust Him.”

Perhaps you’ve been knocked off your spiritual feet or maybe you’re just dealing with ordinary challenges like everyone faces. In any case, you have two choices: you can feel sorry for yourself, and maybe even throw a pity party to which no one really wants to come; or you can come out of denial, brush yourself off, and find out what God’s Word says about your situation.

The Gospel of John begins with these words, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. Through Him all things were made; without Him, nothing was made that has been made. In Him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

Did you hear that? The light of God in us cannot be overcome by darkness. God’s Word shines in the darkness. It really is true what Psalm 119:105 says: Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path. I don’t know about you, but I gave up wandering around trying to find my own way a long time ago. It just wasn’t worth the pain of all that bumping into obstacles in the dark.

When I was at Manchester College, I lived on 3rd east, Oakwood Hall, my freshman year. At that time, Oakwood was a rambling wood structure with L-shaped halls on each side and attics at the ends where we stored suitcases and other bulky items. I hadn’t been there very long before bruises started appearing on my legs. It was a mystery until I told my roommate that I was a sleepwalker. A few nights later, Shar heard me stirring and followed me down the hall to the attic, which I entered and started to walk through, as if I were looking for something, all the while bumping into all the obstacles in the dark.

It’s interesting that I knew while asleep how to open the door but neglected to turn on the light. I think that’s how it is when we accept Christ but don’t grow in our relationship with Him. We open the door to Christ, but then continue to wander around in the darkness only to emerge bruised and sometimes broken.

The night Shar followed me to the attic, she didn’t turn on the light and she didn’t awaken me. She was a psychology major, after all! She just turned me around and gently led me back to our room. That wasn’t the last night I slept-walked, but it was the final time I hurt myself doing so, because locks were installed on the attic doors the next day.

Do you know someone who has been wandering around in the dark without the Light of God to illuminate hidden dangers? Is it you? Have you been in a situation so intense that you’ve asked in desperation, “Where is God in all this?” Would you describe your walk with God as ‘a lot of stops and starts’? Do you find the Holy-Spirit-will-guide-you concept a little out there, choosing instead to wing it?

Chambers was right in his assertion that “the crisis does not come always, but when it does, it is all up in about two seconds, there is no possibility of pretense, you are unearthed immediately.” And he also was correct when he said that if you build up your character a little at a time, when the big crisis comes, you will remain standing.

There is no way to do that other than by doing the coursework–reading the Bible–and the best way to do that is little-by-little, with time to think about what you have read and apply it to your life. A crash course may get you a grade, but you will retain little of what you read; and never cracking the Book and cramming for the final exam is equally ineffective.

The fact that John said “and the Word was God” has been largely overlooked. In verse 14, we see that the Word isn’t an idea or even a book but a Person. “14 The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.”

Why anyone who professes to know Christ, particularly those who need constant remediation, would not read the textbook of the only course with eternal consequences is beyond my understanding. So, today I want to encourage you to open your eyes, rise up, and do your homework. Finals are coming!

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The sun spills through bare branches, streaking its way across the corn stalks, alighting in the grove of trees, illuminating what lies hidden in summer–trunks reaching heavenward, shining in simplicity this clear morning, a silent reminder that He is the vine–beautiful, steadfast and true, and we are the branches, destined to bear fruit as long as we remain in Him.

Father, this day, as surely as the sun shines, illuminate my mind and heart, and guide me by your Spirit. Amen

Looking for my dad…

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I had my dad for such a short time, just 24 years. He was 47 when I was born. Dad used to tell me that from the first day they brought me home, I was looking for him, which I cannot help but think was God’s doing. No matter how busy he was, my presence was always acknowledged and welcomed with a smile and most times with a sing-song “Do-Daddy, Do-Daddy, Do” in response to my “Whatcha’ doin’, Daddy?”.

In the middle of whatever he was doing when I found him–combining wheat, filling his grease gun, writing out seed tags, talking to a neighbor, or just leaning on a fence looking at a field of soybeans, he brought me into focus, welcoming me with a smile into the ordinary moments of his day.

I followed him around closer than his shadow, always content just to be with him. I loved sitting beside him in the big truck on trips to the feed mill or the gravel pit, and he never refused me once when I wanted to step up on his big work shoes to hang on while he ‘walked’ me to the house. We shared afternoon snacks of refrigerator cookies and ice cold water on the tractor; and before church, as we waited for Mother to finish getting ready, we read the funnies together, him in his chair and me stretched out on his lanky frame, the Sunday paper like a tent over us while we chuckled at Dagwood, Beetle Bailey and Little LuLu.

My dad was a man of few words. I was not, but never once did he tell me to be quiet. And even though he was usually doing something else when I was with him, I always knew he was listening. I began my days with him at the kitchen table and ended them by kissing his weathered cheek goodnight.

If he were here today, there would be chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream, and he would say he needed help blowing the candles out because there were so many! He would open our presents of homemade bookmarks, measuring sticks, unevenly hemmed handkerchiefs, and pictures colored just for him, lingering over every one, turning them into treasured possessions to be tucked away and found years later when he was gone.

My dad never talked about love but taught us by example. From him I learned that love is always patient and kind, doesn’t envy what others have, and never brags about what we have, that it isn’t prideful, rude or self-seeking, and that it isn’t easily angered and never holds grudges.

I grew up knowing that there was nothing I could ever do that would cause my dad to stop loving me. That was the greatest gift he gave me, because it made it easy for me to believe in a God who loves unconditionally and forever.

I still look for my dad in the corridors of my mind where memories come alive and are savored once more. But someday, and someday soon, I will look for him and he will be there where I never have to say good-bye again.

I hear the mournful cries…

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A train in the distance heralds impending danger at crossing after crossing,
and just as surely as it comes, it fades into farmland, its mournful call forgotten.
We seldom hear the real harbingers of danger, but deep in our spirit
we feel their impending presence and know the certainty of approaching peril,
despite the lack of sight or sound.
Overshadowing this perfect morning of blue skies, gentle breeze, teeming life,
there is a hollowness, a sadness, that descends as surely as the sun rises.
It is the certain knowledge of children slain by madmen, crazed by ideology
so abhorrent, so base, I scarce can take it in.
The stillness is interrupted once more, but it is the mournful cries
of mothers and fathers ascending to Heaven that I hear,
and I cannot help but ask how long they must endure.
Father of Comfort, my spirit cries, hold them in the shelter of Your embrace.
Father of Life, safeguard their shattered hearts and give them hope.
Father of Mercy, deliver them from darkness to light.

This Holy Hush Within

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There is this holy hush just beyond my window,
as if the earth is waiting for some life-changing event
to take us beyond what we have always known.
I hear the sudden noise of a low-flying plane
whose roar fades as quickly as it comes–and wonder.
The field of corn stands at attention, waiting,
thousands of tassels waving in the early morning breeze,
and I feel in my spirit that another type of harvest is coming
as surely as the mourning doves’ calls that accompany the silence.
A rush of gratefulness overwhelms my spirit, as I remember faithless days
when descended darkness nearly extinguished everything I knew and loved.
I look and listen and know the certain love
of the One who loves me like no other,
the One in whom I find contentment unbelievable,
joy unspeakable, purpose unequalled,
and once more I welcome Him, this Holy Hush Within.
07-30-2014

The Importance of Trust

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Hmm…are we closer? Am I, these two years later?

Sara McKeefer's avatarIn the stillness...

The Importance of Trust

March 25, 2012

If you had a brother or sister growing up, you knew just about everything that went on in their life; and, depending on your relationship with them, I’m pretty sure you sympathized, or maybe even secretly rejoiced at times, when trouble came their way.

My brother Ronnie and I had different parents, but there never was a day that I felt he was anything less than my real brother, in every positive sense of the word.

The reasons were simple. We always ‘had each other’s back’—when things were good and when they were bad. When my brother talked to me, I listened; and when I talked to him, he listened. We understood each other, but the primary bond between us was an unshakeable loyalty built on the solid foundation of trust. He is gone now, but the lessons I learned in our relationship…

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I’ll take this day…

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I can see blue sky beyond the haze that gently kisses earth to leave welcome dew in its silent wake. Gray looms on the horizon where lakers watch for clouds to clear. I remember when I once watched and wondered, but now I leave it there in the past where it belongs. I am here in this place now, this time, when days pass slowly and what I want to do is often left undone. I look out at someone else’s horses in my pasture and turn away from dreams of long ago. I wait in the silence and hear the child laughter of decades removed and smile in tearful thanksgiving of yesterday’s joys and tomorrow’s soon to come.

The Annual Memorial Day Drive-By

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Across my shaggy lawn replete with an army of dandelion stems standing at strict attention, I watched the event unfold at 7 o’clock this morning. I’m referring to the annual Memorial Day Drive-By of my only living uncle, who snags one of his kids every year to chauffeur him the 10 miles north of his lake cottage on Tippy so he can get a good look-see at ‘Sara’s place’ just outside of Syracuse.

As in past years, an unrecognizable car drives by my property very slowly and predictably turns around in my neighbor’s drive two doors down so they can coast by this time at about 3 mph for Look #2. And just as in past years, the action is repeated at my neighbor’s lane to the south, and I see my uncle’s recognizable face plastered to the window of the small black car during Drive-By #3. I wait patiently here on the couch for the minute or less it takes them to turn around again for what turns out to be his final look-see.

I admit I feel sorry for whatever co-conspirator he forces to enable him to satiate his curiosity so he can pass judgment on whether or not the place is being ‘kept up’; but, really, his trip is at least partially pointless nowadays, since Mother, who looked forward to his reports each year, passed away nearly six years ago at 102. Maybe he thinks he will be able to give an accounting to her on the state of the property she purchased and put in trust for my children when he joins her in the Great Beyond someday, but surely he will have better things on his mind then.

I pause to remember that my uncle is almost 89, still actively farming and calling the shots of his and his grandson’s successful seed corn business. Furthermore, last Thanksgiving when I dropped by his home place, it was surprisingly apparent that he had mellowed way more than I ever thought was possible.

“Give him a good day with his kids and grandkids,” I say to the only One whose opinion about my life matters. “And next year, would it be too much to ask to prompt him to call me beforehand and say he wants to drop by for a visit? I’ll make sure the lawn is freshly mowed and the coffee on.”

It’s all or nothing with Jesus.

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There will always be those whose intention it is to make fun of Jesus, and the favorite way of the world to do that is by portraying His people as foolish and unwise. (The snake-handler preacher who died last week, case in point.) In these times when many believers feel that they must reflect society at least a little to attract unbelievers, being a standard has become as old-fashioned as the words “being a standard.” And in many churches the desire to “avoid even the appearance of evil” has all but disappeared from the lexicon in the church’s quest to ‘keep it relevant’.

I think we sometimes forget that we serve a Holy God, and we should be as protective of His reputation as He is of ours. In these times when the world is looking for a scapegoat, believers are increasingly targeted as uneducated fanatics who can be whipped into a frenzy at the drop of a hat, which, unfortunately, invites ridicule instead of reverence, disdain instead of devotion. Just as God IS Love, the Enemy IS Hatred. He hates everyone, those that follow him and those who follow Christ. But there’s something the Enemy does love–portraying Christ-followers as man-on-the-street fools.

If we are really serious about making Jesus not just Saviour but Lord of our life, we must examine our hearts constantly to make sure our words and our motives are pure “as silver tried in the furnace of the Lord, purified seven times.” That’s a tall order for those who take seriously what the Word says about being accountable for every word we have ever spoken. I think what we sometimes prefer to forget is that we also will be held accountable for what we did not say, especially when we knew the nudge to speak came straight from the Holy Spirit .

It’s all or nothing with Jesus. He won`t have it any other way. The hardest thing God has ever called me to do went something like this. “I screwed up, God–totally blew it. I need You to help me turn it around.”

And He did… He turned it around for good–for His glory and His glory alone, He said. And all I got out of it was this peace, this incredible peace–the peace that comes only from a broken and cleansed heart.

Looking beyond what is…

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Yes, we have had a winter of snow, snow and more snow; and according to the weather guy, we’re going to have a bunch more. It’s not that I mind. I’m just glad the precip is coming down in frozen form. In my opinion, there’s nothing more depressing than dull, rainy winter days.

One thing for certain, this weather has given us a lot to talk about: the blizzard with 40 mph winds leaving huge drifts in its wake; school cancelled day after day after day; counties under states of emergency; workplaces closed; college classes canceled; snowplows taking out mailboxes; wind-driven ice missiles finding your already-frozen face; horizontal snow, vertical snow, melting snow, drifting snow, snow potholes, black ice, icicles, ice-coated windshields, and frozen car locks and doors; the scrolling banner of closings and delays every morning and night; and the endless speculation about what it’s going to do weather-wise tomorrow or next week.

I have to confess I’m getting kind of tired of hearing the phrase “I am so done with this snow.” Every time I read it or hear it, I want to very quietly respond “No, you’re not, because it. will. snow. period.” It is, after all, only February!

There is no doubt that weather like we’ve been going through brings hardships into a lot of lives. Heating bills are skyrocketing (mine tripled this month), and there seems to be no end in sight to the frigid temperatures. This is a good time to remind ourselves that while we’re complaining about snow, the UK is dealing with awful floods, and wars and persecution continue in such places as Afghanistan, Iran, Pakistan, India and North Korea.

This string of snowy days has held a blessing that I became aware of just today as I sat here writing. Glancing up and out, I saw fluffy flakes drifting slowly down–more slowly than I think I’ve ever seen snow fall. Hour after hour, it continued, and hour after hour I watched. And then toward evening, I looked out to see my usual view of woods and field totally concealed in a white-out so unexpected I just stood and stared.

And then it dawned on me. All of this time that I’ve been lamenting the forecasts, I’ve also been looking outside–beyond the sameness of my house, drawn to an ever-changing vista of trees that seems to be getting shorter as drifts grow taller, flocks of robins hopping from branch to branch to feast on crab apples, fluffed-out feathered friends at and under the feeders, gray snow bands on the horizon, freezing fog rolling across the orchard and pasture, blue skies and blinding sun, and snowplows rumbling by, spraying huge walls of snow with each pass.

There is something freeing about looking beyond what we know by rote to anticipate the unexpected, whether it’s gently falling snow or perhaps direction for our lives. Kudos to the simple joys that take us beyond what is to what will be yet enable us to enjoy today, no matter what.