All I Want for Christmas Is a Color Wheel by Lorraine Triggs

Helen was a bit of an anomaly on the street where I grew up. For starters, Helen went to work every day at a real job in the city. She and her husband, Stan, didn’t have children. In fact, theirs was an unconventional marriage. Whatever that meant. Details remained hazy on why Stan didn’t always live at the house, but it might have explained why they didn’t go all out to deck the halls. Not to mention that Helen’s Christmas treats were along the lines of stale chewy coconut candy. Helen doesn’t know what children like, my parents said, as Dad unfolded his handkerchief for us to spit the candy in.

Helen took a no-nonsense approach to her Christmas decorating, but decorate she did in her own unconventional way. Stan would arrive in his Cadillac, but without a Christmas tree tied to its roof or sticking out of its trunk. In just a few minutes, Stan would put up the tree in the front window, and Helen would finish the decorating, then hang a white wreath with blue ornaments on the front door. Stan, chomping on his ever-present cigar, would give a nod of approval and take off to wherever.

It was that tree in the front window that fascinated me. It wasn't just artificial. Helen's tree was silver and lit by an on-the-floor color wheel. At night from my bedroom window at the front of the house, I would watch Helen’s Christmas tree magically change colors glowing from yellow to blue to red to green—without synchronized music. I. never tired of watching it.

Long after we unplugged the lights on our Christmas tree and the other houses on the block had gone dark, Helen’s tree remained lit through the cold December nights, the color wheel turning and shining light into the darkness through the night—and more like Christmas than the now dark, heavily decorated tree that sat in our living room like odd shadows in the sleepy nighttime.

Christmas is a color wheel of light in the hands of people who were anomalies.

There's Mary, the possibly tween girl who submits herself to the Lord and the angel spoke to her. What color light was that? Golden yellow.

There’s advanced-in-years Zechariah, when after months of silence, turns the color wheel, and a sunrise is visiting us from on high, and with another spin of the wheel, this sunrise will give light to those who sit in darkness.

What about Bethlehem, the hometown with no room for the God who made it to be born, save that one innkeeper who could make room among the lambs and kids and cubs and calves for one more newborn. The wheel spins with just barely color at all when the sun went down.

Then shepherds in the field shepherding when the color wheel spun out of control—glory, light, angel of the Lord, multitude of the heavenly host, and singing of good news of great joy. When the angels went back to heaven, I wonder if a few of the shepherds lingered for a moment as the light dissipated in the darkness that didn’t appear as dark as it once did. What color was that glory?

With one final turn, the color wheel lights the greatest anomaly of all—a baby who is the Word become flesh, God with us, welcoming us to receive and believe in him, which on second thought might be the greatest anomaly of all—sinners now children of God.

The Hope of the Promise by Virginia Hughes

The stage was set for a time of great worry when Ruthie turned ten years old. Nothing fit together as it once had. Too many things had changed. There were many moving parts and the family felt unstable. Doubt had crept into her young heart.

Money for basic needs was scant. “There is no money for extras,” was a message that rang loud and clear. And to top it off, they had moved to this cramped one-story parsonage with no chimney. It was not a Christmas house at all. No place to hang stockings and where would the tree sit? She doubted Santa Claus more each day but did not dare take too firm a stand lest she be wrong and land deeper on the naughty list missing out on the scraps of Christmas that fell on the just and the unjust. Ruthie was convinced. Christmas would come and it would miss her.

She read far too long into that night with the flashlight under the covers. Come morning, she did not easily awaken. “You better get with it, or you are going to sleep right through school and even Christmas, Lazybones!” Older sister Kathryn warned while tugging Ruthie’s leg off the top bunk. “I am so fed up with you.” Ruthie knew the twins, Jojo and James, needed help getting ready for school. “Get up now. You know better.”

Why had she read that crazy story about Rip van Winkle sleeping for twenty years? Surely twenty years of sleeping was only a grown-up curse. But Christmas came very early in the morning and what if she remained as tired as she was now? She just might sleep through Christmas morning.

A more immediate problem remained: a present for her mother. She had made coupons for Mom’s birthday and drawn a picture of a tulip for Mother’s Day. The grey kitty who liked to visit by the back steps would not work as a gift. Mom had grown suspicious of its presence and let it be known, no more strays allowed to be gifted by any family member. Frustrations piled up like the dirty laundry Mom stacked in the wagon to take to the laundry mat with their youngest sister, Sue sitting beside it.

Caught snooping through closets and dresser drawers just this past week, Ruthie would not admit she was looking for proof there was no Santa Claus. She had never doubted before. Why did she doubt now? With doubts like hers, she was not good enough to deserve gifts.

Still, she couldn't help herself as she collected evidence against Santa Claus’s existence. Having listened well to bits of stray conversation here and there and having saved the gift tags from last Christmas, she compared the writing, “from Santa” to Mother’s handwriting all year long.

She showed proof to her older sisters. They were ready for her. If she was so smart, how had she never heard of Santa’s helpers? Santa was not God. He could not do everything and be everywhere at once. Didn’t she know Santa had helpers everywhere and grown-ups were chief among the helpers? Ruthie persisted that she knew enough to blow the lid off the whole Santa scam, then she was told she had better keep her big trap shut and not ruin it for the three younger ones.

Mom wasn’t smiling these days. Dad’s laughter wasn’t ringing through the house because he worked out of town during the week. He came home to preach on weekends, a beleaguered pastor trying to knit together a sad little church torn apart by the infidelity of the prior pastor.

Ruthie did not know what happened to make the church so empty, but she did know the verse about where two or three gather in my name, there I am with them. There was her family, Mr. Thom the deacon, and a handful of regular attenders. They would keep praying and fill these sturdy pews.

Ruthie heard her mother crying in the night and racked her brain with how to comfort Mom. Maybe a glass of milk and a graham cracker which brought herself such comfort and joy after school. But the milk jug was too heavy and bounced right out of her hands. The disastrous milk spill leaked into the box of graham crackers, which soaked up the milk like eager sponges. Then Ruthie was the one crying when her clatter awoke the house. Her big sisters grabbed dish towels and accused, “What have you done?” along with, “Now there’s no milk!” and “No more snacks left for the whole rest of the week!” Ruthie had only added to Mom’s misery. Ruthie determined to “be less of a burden,” which older sister Jean was always suggesting.

At church, Dad’s earnest sermons echoed in the rafters. Ruthie’s ear caught a musical phrase, “The Hope of the Promise made by God to our fathers. For this promise we serve God night and day hoping to attain this promise. My dear brothers and sisters, I want you to know any of us thinking we serve God fervently night and day may completely miss the Hope of the Promise. The Bible is filled with stories of souls who did.”

Ruthie would need to look up these new words, “fervently,” “attain,” and that phrase, “Hope of the Promise,” which flew on such powerful wings, but what did it mean? It was the kind of phrase her mind grabbed onto. She did not want to miss something so grand sounding as that. She asked at dinner, “Dad, who missed it?” He pushed up his glasses and looked at her, “Eh, what’s that?” Ruthie repeated, “Who missed the hope of the promise?”

“Ah, someone was listening!” He smiled at her and then grew solemn, “Many souls have missed the hope of the promise. Jesus is the hope promised by God through Abraham and the prophets, but when Jesus was born here on earth many who heard and even saw him did not believe he was God’s Son. So, anyone who does not believe that Jesus is the promised one, the Savior of the world, the Messiah . . .”

Ruthie interrupted, “But why did you sayyoucould serve God and miss it? Aren’t you the pastor? And all of us; we are in church all the time.”

Dad cleared his throat, “I do believe in Jesus and do not plan to miss the Hope of the Promise, and I pray you children choose Jesus as your Savior, but it is possible to be in church and not believe in Jesus. I’m sorry to say, many leaders of the temple during the time of Christ’s ministry on earth, did not believe in Jesus. In his death and resurrection. Even the ones who fervently studied the law.” Ruthie asked, “Fervently?” hoping to get a definition out of Dad and not have to open the heavy, red dictionary on the shelf. “Yes, ummmm, earnestly, like when you really want to know about something, and you search, seek to know it, to get it.” Ruthie was following, “When you say get it, do you mean attain it?” Dad nodded.

“But how could someone not believe Jesus was God’s Son, in person?” Her dad explained how hearts can be against Jesus and not accept the gift of faith. It’s a long, long list of those who will not confess their sins and be saved by his blood and resurrection power, who will not have fellowship here and throughout eternity.

Ruthie asked, “Is that long list of unbelievers like the other naughty list?”

Dad nodded. “Yes, but it’s even more serious. Because being saved from your sins and enjoying fellowship with Christ begins on earth and lasts into eternity.” “Forever,” Ruthie added. Dad said, “Remember, Jesus said to Thomas, “Be believing not unbelieving.” Ruthie repeated the phrase to herself, “Be believing not unbelieving,” as she walked with her family over to practice for the Christmas program.

Practice was underway, and Ruthie read her part about Jesus’ birth and his name Emmanuel, meaning God with us. She wondered who would watch the Christmas program if the whole church wasinthe program? Another problem to add to the pile.

Her hand shot up when Mom, the play’s director, asked if anyone had an idea for a good name for the Christmas program. The title would be printed on flyers to pass out to the neighbors. “The Hope of the Promise!” Ruthie exclaimed quoting the phrase from the morning sermon that lingered in her mind. She was elated to have her title chosen. Things were looking up.

One afternoon after school, Ruthie noticed that the supply closet in the bus garage attached to their home was unlocked. She took the rare opportunity to search it thoroughly. She found treasure in shopping bags full of unopened packages of the prettiest paper table napkins she had ever seen. The napkins represented each season of the year--autumn leaves, acorns, Christmas poinsettias, holly, spring tulips, cherry blossoms, summer sunflowers and sailboats. Ruthie was thrilled. This could be the perfect gift for Mom this Christmas. She would need to ask Mr. Thom, the Deacon, who helped in the church office while Dad was gone during the week. She hoped to have one package of each of the seasons to give to Mom. Ruthie swung the bag back and forth as she walked to the church office feeling joy over the pretty gift she had found.

Mr. Thom sat in the church office across the driveway. She showed him the shopping bag full of beautiful table napkins and he said she could have them all. They were leftovers from an old fund raiser.

Finally, Ruthie had a gift for Mom and one problem solved. She then noticed the Christmas program flyers sitting on the desk by Mr Thom. “The Hope of the Promise Christmas Program,” was coming up soon and Mr. Thom was delighted to give her a stack of flyers to hand out to the neighborhood.

Ruthie suddenly had an idea so big she could hardly contain it within herself. She would do two things at once. First, hand out the flyers inviting neighbors to the Christmas program. Second, sell the pretty napkins to anyone wanting to buy them. She would not tell Mom or anyone in the family about the selling part. That would be a surprise. Ruthie was going to earn money and actually buy Christmas gifts.

Mom immediately said no to Ruthie going out by herself handing out Christmas program flyers. But when Ruthie offered to take the twins with her, Mom readily agreed. “Don’t go too far and don’t be out too long!” Mom called as Ruthie helped the twins into their coats, hats and mittens.

They went door to door selling packages of napkins and handing out invitations to the church Christmas program. She let people pay what they wanted, and many gave whole dollars and said, “Keep the change.” Along the way Ruthie had another idea she had yet to clear with Mother. She also invited the neighbors to come to the church at 5:30 p.m. and bring food for a carry-in dinner before the Christmas program.

Carry-in dinners were just about her most favorite thing at church, but with so few attendees, their church dinners were bleak. When a concerned neighbor asked why the flyer failed to mention the carry-in dinner on the flyer, Ruthie assured her the carry-in idea had come about after the flyers were printed.

It quickly became apparent that only the Christmas napkins were selling. Ruthie and the twins ran home and pulled out the other seasons and replaced them with the Christmas napkins. Ruthie begged the twins to not tell Jean and Kathryn or Mom or anyone else about their grand plan. The older ones would take over and this was her idea.

But on the very first night, the prayers of the twins at bedtime turned into, “Go Tell it on the Mountain - over the hills and everywhere.” The twins finally had real fuel for their prayers, and they went all in, “Help us sell all the napkins. Help us make lots of money. Help neighbors bring good food to the carry-in. Help us not be like ‘The Little Match Girl,’ and get too cold out there.”

Mother, Kathryn and Jean interrupted the twins’ prayers. “What did you say, James?” Ruthie urgently spoke up, “Shhh, James please don’t say it! Mom don’t make them tell. Jojo, shhhh! It’s a surprise!” But Mother was alarmed at what she had heard and demanded to know what was going on. “Jojo, did you say carry-in?” “And what’s this about making lots of money?” James stated they were getting rich.
And e v e r y t h i n g was confessed.

Ruthie got a stern talking to about taking grown up kinds of matters into her own hands such as church potluck dinners and fund raisers. She learned their church does not invite neighbors to a free church Christmas program for the first time and expect people to buy something. And then there was the matter of the carry-in dinner. No permission had been given her to plan such a thing.

However, on second thought, it was decided that the carry-in wasn’t a terrible idea. The remaining flyers would now include a handwritten note with information about the carry-in. And while they would all help Ruthie write the note on the flyer, she would have to write the most.

Ruthie asked the twins why they had told everything after she begged them not to. Jojo said, “You said don’t tell Jean and Kathryn and Mom.” James piped up, “You did not say, don’t tell Jesus.”

Ruthie had to cough up all the money they stashed in the old metal lunch box under her bed. Mom and Dad allowed her to pay tithe and offering, pay her partners in crime, the twins; and keep what was left, a whopping thirty-two dollars. The remaining paper napkins would be moved to the fellowship hall cabinet and be used for upcoming church events.

When Ruthie heard talk of missing Christmas program flyers from Mr. Thom’s desk, she insisted they were “Not missing, but delivered!” The grown-ups were surprised when Ruthie showed them on the neighborhood map where she and the twins had already been. Yes, this street, this one, yes, yes. And yes, people said they would be happy to attend. These were the same neighbors who had said no to previous church invitations over the past year. More flyers were cheerfully distributed. Their prayers to grow the church were being answered.

The excitement began to build in the family and among the regular attendees as they practiced for the Christmas program. Ruthie heard hesitation in the grown-ups’ voices when they wondered aloud if the neighbors would really come to enjoy a special evening at church. Mr. Thom had caught some of Ruthie’s enthusiasm and said, “I think we better start setting up tables and chairs.”

And when the time came, at least fifty neighbors showed up for the carry-in dinner and Christmas program. The church was full of good food, warmth, music and worship. It was a turnaround point for the little church.

Ruthie who had been practicing her faith in the “Hope of the Promise,” had begun to experience joy in her young life. And when doubt crept in, she remembered the words of Jesus, “Do not be unbelieving, but believing!”

Looking Forward to Advent by Wil Triggs

When Lorraine was a girl, once upon a time not so very many years ago, when she was in church and the congregation sang “Visions of rapture now burst on my sight,” (from the hymn “Blessed Assurance”) she would sing instead, “Visions of sugar plums dance in my head.” 

I think of this, probably because of the sugar plum tie to the holidays, especially during Advent. Kind of a strange connection, I know, but when it came to mind this year, I asked a few other people if they recall other such modifications of original texts of the Bible or hymns.

Here are a few that people shared with me. 

One family calls the angel who announced Jesus' birth  to the shepherds “Mark” because their four-year-old insists everyone sings. “Mark the herald angel sings.”

“We bring you gifts of gold, Frankenstein and myrrh.”

“Let the God of salivation be salted!”

“For Paul has sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.”

“Let the little children come to me, and forgive them not.”

“Him exalting, self a-basting...” (kind of a Thanksgiving turkey take on things!)

“Great is my faithfulness.”

We laugh at these because they’re funny. We know what children mean when they get it wrong. Children don’t know that what they’re saying isn’t right. They’re saying what they think everyone else is saying. (Well, I have a feeling Lorraine realized somewhere along the way that the sugar plum dance was just more fun to sing than whatever a rapture vision meant.) But for the most part, kids are saying what they think is right.

They’re not the only ones.

Even we adults don’t always get it right.

But do we realize it or do we, like children, believe that what we’re saying or thinking in every way is exactly just so, so right.

I’ll bet everyone loves love. Pastor Moody just preached about it in Hebrews. Philadelphia—love for the family. Philioxenia—love for the stranger. Standing with the persecuted. How we talk about marriage and how we should honor and elevate it.

Love may be the thing all of humanity, angry as we all seem these days, chases. Maybe we call it community or relationship or truth or peace; it is the thing we humans search for with relentless longing. In our searching, though, we may find that we stray from love itself. If not the word, well, the reality behind the word.  We say the word, but sometimes it comes out wrong: leave instead of love or laugh instead of love or loathe instead of love. But we think we’re saying love.

We so easily wander, like a lamb, head down, sniffing something it smells and following that away from the flock, unaware that it is moving itself away from the rest of the sheep and the shepherd.

We can become so committed to the part we get wrong and wander unaware and drift away from the flock and the shepherd, self-a-basting ourselves in commitment to forgive them not and give the gift of Frankenstein as we sing “great is my faithfulness.” We say or think or do the wrong thing like children confusing salivation with salvation.

We don’t always put away childish ways even when we think we have.

Yet Jesus is always ready to leave the flock to rescue the lamb who has gone astray. He bears us on his shoulders and carries us back. He believes not in us, but in God, where the source of true hope and endurance comes, the One who helps us know the real love that is so opposite from what we humanly say or do when we wander off on our own.

This week we light the messenger candle. The message that a child had been born was broadcast in full angelic splendor to outcast shepherds watching their flocks. One of them might be named Mark, but probably not. Nevertheless, the message was not to fear, but instead, go. Go and see the baby sleeping where the animals eat, go and see the shepherd of love. Just go.

Bearing, believing, hoping, enduring. Jesus our rescuing good shepherd lives them out.

Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

This description Paul wrote to the Corinthians . . .  what had he heard about the church in Corinth to prompt this? Which number was higher:  the number of temples to idols like Aphrodite or the number of factious divisions in the church of Corinth? Maybe these believers were too much like us.

Love, like its king, never ends. It doesn’t give up. Maybe when we speak with one another and with those outside the faith we need to take a dose of humility to recognize that we will be surprised someday when we see more clearly all that we got wrong along the way.  There have been times that I have backed away from talking about Jesus with someone out of fear of doing it wrong. But I’ve decided to just go for it. Somehow God has decided to use people like us instead of angels to be the messengers to the people around us.

We don’t know like God knows, but we do know the God who knows all things. And somehow Jesus uses us to offer his love.

Advent isn’t just looking back. It’s also looking forward to when all things become clear. And living and walking in love until that day. By the Spirit and the Word and with each other, we don’t have to wait even as we wait.

When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways. For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known. So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

Love Who? by Wil Triggs

By now, you have surely heard about the kidnapped missionaries in Haiti.

As I prepared this week’s prayer guide for the persecuted church, I found reports about them in both the secular and the Christian press. I don’t know why I didn’t click on all the articles I saw. I figured they would be critical of the missionaries.

But I was curious to see what the sending missions agency had to say about the situation. I don’t know the theology of this board, so I’m not endorsing them or aligning myself or College Church with them, but I do think the situation is worthy of our prayer support regardless, so I went searching.

I found a webpage on the Christian Aid Ministries website with the latest update.

They are asking prayer for the following:

• “Pray for the hostages—for their release, that they could endure faithfully, and that they would display Christlike love. Jesus, when nailed to the cross, said, Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.

• Pray for the kidnappers—that they would experience the love of Jesus and turn to Him. We see that as their ultimate need.

• Pray for government leaders and authorities—as they relate to the case and work toward the release of the hostages. We appreciate the ongoing work and assistance of those knowledgeable and experienced in dealing with kidnapping cases."

These prayer requests demonstrate remarkable balance. They ask for prayer, not just for the hostage missionaries, but for the salvation of the kidnappers. And the third request, related to the human authorities in the situation seems refreshingly free of political slant, though one can never be sure about that kind of thing.

It’s surprising how much attention the story is getting in the press, and I couldn’t resist searching more and delved into secular news.

The New York Times wrote an article on a 24-hour prayer chain and quoted a mother of six who is praying at 2:45 a.m.: “We do believe God is in control,” she said. “When Daniel was put in the lions’ den, there was nothing logical about him coming out alive.”

And then I found this quote from a report on both NPR and Christianity Today:

“Weston Showalter, spokesman for the religious group, said that the families of those who'd been kidnapped are from Amish, Mennonite and other conservative Anabaptist communities in Ohio, Michigan, Wisconsin, Tennessee, Pennsylvania, Oregon and Ontario, Canada. He read a letter from the families, who weren't identified by name, in which they said, ‘God has given our loved ones the unique opportunity to live out our Lord's command to love your enemies.’"

Of course, we should be praying for these people. This email is an invitation for us to pray about their perseverance in situation and for their release, but I think it is also a challenge for us to remember, even as we pray for the kidnappers, to pray for our enemies as well, whoever they might be and in whatever sphere of life the word “enemy” might take us.

If kidnapped folks can pray for the salvation of those who have kidnapped them, surely, we can do the same toward our enemies.

43 “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ 44 But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45 so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. 46 For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? 47 And if you greet only your brothers, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? 48 You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect. (Matthew 5:43-48)

As much as we might want to pray down fire and brimstone, Jesus calls us to do something counter-cultural; to love and pray for our enemies, not just for people we like or agree with, which is counter to our humanness. Maybe that was the point Jesus was making. Remember that when we were enemies of God, he went to the cross for us. So "enemies" doesn't have to be forever.

Is there anyone in your life who is, at some level, your enemy? Are you especially angered by a certain opponent of the faith? None of us are kidnapped, but let's take the response of those kidnapped to consider how we respond to enemies. Take the time to consider this.

The good news is that God in Christ Jesus turns enemies into friends—sons and daughters of the God that they/we once rejected. So even as we pray for the freedom of these missionaries, may we also pray for the people we call enemies, that God would work in them and set them free from sin and reconcile them to both him and us.

You can read ongoing updates from the missionary board here if you’re interested: https://christianaidministries.org/updates/haiti-staff-abduction/

Not-So Original Sin by Lorraine Triggs

What better way to teach Kindergartners about the Fall than with a bag of Starbursts and a bag of Lindt chocolate truffles? We corralled our teachers and Dan Burden to help execute our lesson plan. Dan would bring in the candy and explain that it was only for the teachers. He would put the Starbursts on one side of the room, and the chocolate on the other, emphasizing only for the teachers and only the Starbursts. The teachers could eat any of the Starbucks, but none of the chocolates.

One-by-one, the teachers would come up, fuss over the Starbursts, and reject them in favor of the chocolate. But shouldn’t one of us do what Dan said and not take the chocolate, a teacher asked. Well, no, not really. We all are sinners. The main verse we were studying was Romans 3:23 “for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.”

I know you know where this is headed. I went first and checked out the Starbursts, but kept looking over at the chocolate. I really love chocolate I told the kids and walked across the room. I was about to open the bag—and we didn’t see this coming—Riley jumped up from her chair and shouted, “No, Mrs. Triggs, no. Don’t take the chocolate.” Sadly, the other teachers, one by one, took their turn, each of us falling to the lure of the forbidden truffle as other children joined Riley in shouting "No, don't eat it."

Riley should have been in the garden with Eve.

Nowadays, even in this post-Christian world, there is nothing original about sin. We all do it, and if we look closely enough, our response to sin resembles our first parents’ response—we doubt God’s Word and goodness, we blame, we deny, we twist things ever so slightly to justify and make ourselves look better than we are. We aren’t even original thinkers in our excuse-making. We will live and not die. We will know more fully.

English poet John Donne wrote these lines in his Holy Sonnet I
But our old subtle foe so tempteth me,
That not one hour I can myself sustain;

An hour? Don’t I wish. There are some days I can’t even sustain myself on the 10-minute drive to work without complaining about road construction and school buses. That old subtle foe of ours sneaks in a worry here and there, a doubt or two of God’s goodness in a difficult situation and a large dose of self-pity because life isn’t going my way.

The final lines of Donne’s sonnet bring hope to my lack of sustainability:
Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art,
And thou like adamant draw mine iron heart.

In his book The Soul in Paraphrase – A Treasury of Classic Devotional Poem, Leland Ryken comments on this first sonnet, defining the word adamant as "magnetic lodestone," a rare magnetic mineral that occurs in nature. The magnetism is permanent and cannot be undone.

When God reaches out to his beloved through his nail-scarred resurrected hands, his bride clings to him like metal to a magnet. They are together. The serpent’s head is crushed.

Nothing can pry us away. There’s nothing subtle about God’s amazing grace that draws cold iron hearts to his loving heart, rescues us from our not so original sins and sustains us as we walk with him.

By the way, Riley’s favorite hymn is “Holy, Holy, Holy,” I think that girl is on to something.

Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty!
Early in the morning our song shall rise to thee.
Holy, holy, holy! Merciful and mighty,
God in three persons, blessed Trinity!

Holy, holy, holy! All the saints adore thee,
casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea;
cherubim and seraphim falling down before thee,
which wert, and art, and evermore shalt be.

Holy, holy, holy! Though the darkness hide thee,
though the eye of sinful man thy glory may not see,
only thou art holy; there is none beside thee,
perfect in power, in love and purity.

Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty!
All thy works shall praise thy name, in earth and sky and sea.
Holy, holy, holy! Merciful and mighty,
God in three persons, blessed Trinity.