I am looking at a picture of our team from 2001 who pioneered the still thriving campus ministry in Toulouse. There were three couples, the Skurs, the Schlies, and the Workmans. These are dear friends, and all of us spent years in France investing in what God is going here. The Skurs left for Colorado a few years ago. We miss them. The Schlies are leaving France this summer. We will be the only ones left from this picture. The Faulks, the Kellums, the Onkens, the Heslons, have left or are leaving. I’m deeply sad to see people go, and it leaves me torn. Did something go wrong? How do you arrive at the point where you say, “My work is done here”?

I believe success in God’s kingdom is simply obeying Him and relying on His power. Going back to the States is not failure. They all continue to serve the Lord wherever they are. A missionary must think in terms of mission, pursuing what God has called them to do. This of course must be balanced with life’s circumstances which are constantly changing. And God’s call is not a firmly set thing either, but it evolves and flexes as you grow and pursue it. I have felt a progressive call: first to share the gospel, then specifically toward France, then using online resources, and now focusing on artistically helping reveal the beauty of the gospel. It seems that a call, however, is a delicate thing. It needs to be tended to and nurtured.

We are living life and keeping our eyes on God’s call, growing and changing as people, and continuously asking, “God, what do you want me to do?” But that is a complicated question. For the people in the paragraph above, the answer was return. Loved ones ask when or even if we will return, but it’s so complex. How long will we remain connected with the mission in France? How long will we feel this call? How long will our life situation, and that of our family, allow us to pursue it? We can’t give any definite answers. But I can say that we still feel a strong call and that the work May and I are doing is significant and worthwhile and strongly related to where we are – France.

This summer, for a number of reasons, we won’t make it back to the States. Since 2005 we’ve visited every two years, but we have to break that rhythm this time. That’s a bummer. I miss my family and do want to see them. But concerning God’s call we must strain forward, press on toward the upward call of God in Christ Jesus… For now, that call is still in France. It doesn’t take away the pain of distance, but it gives a missionary purpose.

My parents have a small oil painting that was always hard to get a clear vision of. It was rough, just giving impressions here and there of its subjects. When I asked about it they told me it was an artist proof, a sketch or draft of a painting. I liked the form and the colors, but I have never seen what the final painting looked like. Larry Pirnie, do you have record of it?

Today as I studied Hebrews 8 with some colleagues I was drawn to verse 5. Many versions say that the temple is a copy or shadow of heavenly things. But the TOB version in French uses the word "esquisse" which is a rough draft of a painting, a model of what the artist is envisioning. The tabernacle, and later the temple, was an artistic rendering of heavenly things using earthly materials and human craftsmen.

As an artist, I struggle to render what’s in my mind on paper or a screen. Much of what I envision is lost in translation because of my limited skills or knowledge. The temple is an esquisse of heavenly things, but what else? We collectively are the bride of Christ. How clearly do we see that spiritual reality? A vague esquisse.

If we look at 2 Corinthians 3 with the eyes of an artist. We are God’s work of art, the living letter he is writing to the world. "you show that you are a letter from Christ delivered by us, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts."

And even though what we see in an esquisse, God, the master artist, is constantly molding and transforming us. "we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another."

This makes me want to take a step back and say, "God, show me what you’re up to." He is painting a magnificent masterpiece. At the same time it is reassuring, because I understand what I am seeing is only a model, a draft, an esquisse of what will one day be revealed. Still, it can be beautiful to look at.

If you want to get better at something you have to practice. This is not news, and shouldn’t be a hard sell. But the parallels between my musical life and spiritual life hit me hard as I was spending time with the Lord this morning.

I learned to play guitar when I was in college. Surrounded by guitar playing friends and challenged to play praise songs, my skills grew. Then I played regularly for our church for a while and was even better. That was twenty years ago, when I reached a plateau, or even a gradual descent. Today, my fingers are terribly rusty. Every once in a while, my team asks me to play guitar in a prayer meeting. I’m always happy to, but my fingers don’t obey like they should. The basics are there, but the finer details are confused.

Contrast this with the staggering progress my sons have playing violin and flute. They both are exceptional musicians, taking classes and practicing as often as they can. It’s not uncommon for us to tell them they need to do their homework before they practice so time doesn’t get out of hand – they enjoy practicing that much. They love finding time for extended practice, and when we go on a biking trip or skiing trip it’s agonizing for them to be away from their instruments for so long. They play their instruments fluently, naturally, amazingly.

Here is what struck me, my spiritual life is more like me playing the guitar than Silas playing violin or Efrem playing flute. I’ve heard you can play a large percentage of songs using just three chords. The gospel message is profoundly simple yet profound in impact. It goes a long way, but it’s just the beginning of the journey. I feel like my spiritual progress has plateaued and too often I fall back on the same three chords. I am not a spiritual virtuoso. I am convinced that if I want to see God’s perspective, to pray in his will, and overflow with his love, I need to regularly have time with him. Like doing scales or playing through a song, I need to read his word and meditate on it, turn even more often to him in prayer, and long for extended periods with God. If I’m as faithful as my boys are practicing their instruments, the results will be fluent and natural instead of rusty and awkward.

Slow down a moment and ask yourself how you’re doing in practicing the presence of God? Maybe we can all take a step toward being more virtuoso in our walks with him.

I snapped this photo while I still could. A noble stone and brick house in Rennes peered sadly over the barrier being constructed. A sign indicated what would become of the lot it stood on for generations. In Rennes, beautiful homes like these are being sacrificed for the sake of apartments that look like cement cereal boxes. It makes me sad. The history and character of the city is being lost. That beautiful building could have been renovated into a multiple family dwelling. Just days later, all that was left was a hole in the ground. If it were up to me, that house would have been stewarded differently.

We have present day needs, sometimes terribly urgent. But our lives are like a breath rushing through the majestic forest of history. How we steward what is entrusted to us is a test. I just finished reading the book The Monuments Men, by Robert Edsel (no I haven’t seen the film yet). Their work to rescue and preserve artwork from Cathedrals to paintings to sculptures during the second world war was incredibly noble. History and culture are preserved and transmitted through such works! And I recently heard on the news that a Jihadi had been prosecuted for destroying mausoleums in Timbuktu, Mali. Can the 9 years he was sentenced in any way make up for the damage he was responsible for? Impossible. Of course, the human toll in these global conflicts is even more heartbreaking. The violence suffered in Syria and Africa are beyond our comprehension, and I would argue much more important.

Stewardship reaches broadly across our lives. I spent years remodeling our apartment, trying to be a good steward of our home. I dutifully wash our 15-year-old car in spite of the rust lining the wheel wells. We do our best to provide good meals to our growing boys. But how are we stewarding our finances? Our time? Our relationships? It’s easy to see how the stewardship of physical things can endure beyond our lifetime: the tree we plant or house we build or work of art we paint can live on. But I think how we steward things that are unseen has an even greater eternal impact. Every person – soul – we interact with is eternal. The mechanic working on my car is far more important than my car. What influence am I having on those around me? I think our conscience and emotions can be our eyes into this unseen world. When I feel embarrassed and ashamed because I lost my temper, I wasn’t being a good steward of relationships. When I have an opportunity to share the gospel and my whole being bubbles with joy, I was being a good steward. It’s good to stop and ask – why am I feeling this way? It might be related to stewardship.

“We look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.” 2 Corinthians 4:18.

“Lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Matthew 6:20,21