Have you ever looked at someone you have known for a long time and it feels like you are looking at them for the first time? A familiar face when intimately studied, changes; especially one you have grown to love and "know." Maybe it is because we take that face for granted when we see it. I remember the first time I discovered this phenomenon. I was in the car with my mother and I was in fifth grade. If ever a face had been taken for granted by me, it was hers, until someone said they thought she was my sister. "My mom?!" I thought. Impossible! So I took a close look and there behind that mom-ish facade was a person. No kidding! I remember just looking at her face in the light I imagined other people saw her and I think it was the first time I really took in her features- high cheekbones, dark eyes, really nice smile. Mom. And yet, not just Mom. It was like she morphed right before my eyes.
God's Word has a tendency to morph in the same way. It's familiar territory for me. My eyes read the words sometimes with a half-effort. "For God so loved..." Heard it before. Yep. Got it. Gave His Son. Moving on. But if I stop and stare like it's my first time hearing, it is brand new to my heart and I feel pierced by what I have "heard" a hundred times.
The other day I read a post from Heart of the Shepherd on Facebook. It was Galatians 5:6. "The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love." I stopped. I stared. I marveled. All these times wondering about purpose, and what ifs, and how tos, and whys; melted into this one answer- "faith expressing itself through love." Conviction is that moment where your heart feels wounded with truth and you search for a way to repair it. I wondered how much my faith was actually displayed by love and I considered that it wasn't much. Certainly not enough.
I love my children. I love my husband. I tell them everyday. We kiss. We hug. We snuggle. We are that kind of family. And maybe because we are that kind of family, it is easy to have those acts of love be another motion that can get followed by a motion that is not so loving. Anger, ungratefulness, grumbling, or just thoughtlessness.
The world talks about whirlwind romances as though they are the deepest form of love, but I tell you real love is slow and deliberate. It's the stopping and staring and discovering. It's that moment in Kroger when your cashier isn't just the obstacle between you and dinner getting on the table on time, but a lady with a family of her own... or maybe none at all. Slow, deliberate examination. It's the moment when the source of whining outbursts in the grocery store isn't a brat, but a real, little person struggling to learn that love isn't quantified in getting what we want and that's a lesson we all struggle to hold on to. Love is discovering that desperation to be wanted, needed, and loved is often what leads the teenager to make undesirable choices. That girl is not the choices that she has made, but the choice that you make to love her can be exactly what she needs to guide her to better decisions.
Love is deliberate. Why do we treat it like it is spontaneous; a fleeting feeling that we struggle to maintain? The way our society falls in and out of love speaks to a belief that love is something that bubbles up in spite of us, then spills out over time, and is gone as quickly as it comes. We act like we don't have any control over this thing called love; that whether we feel loving toward a person is somehow outside of us, often dependent on how that person acts toward us. We act like it is a current that sometimes sweeps us off our feet and other times heads us for the shore, leaving us feeling washed up and abandoned.
But the Bible tells us differently. It is commanded, even demanded. Like a mother requests her child to put on her shoes before stepping out the door, we are to "clothe" ourselves in love in the form of compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience (Colossians 3:12). Love is our Christian uniform. We are required to wear it. It is how we associate ourselves with our Lord and Savior.
Getting dressed in the morning is a deliberate act. I can say this is especially true for me with a six week old baby that is regularly attached to me. The Bible likens love to an act of dressing because it is a deliberate decision to wear love for the day.
Consider your day. How much is swept away in a current of routine? How much are your acts of faith simply tradition, rather than love?
"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing."- 1 Corinthians 13:1-2
Faith without love is nothing. The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love. Faith is a call to action; a deliberate decision to put on love, because if faith is not dressed up in love; it really isn't faith at all.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Friday, January 18, 2013
A Time to Dance
This post is long overdue. I suppose I have a good excuse. I'm looking at him right now- nestled in my arm, preventing full range of the keyboard to type this message. Matthew Jonathan Koudelka arrived two days "late" according to the medical world, but not a minute outside of his Master's perfect timing. It's quite the story, so I thought I would share. Since Jonathan and I do not discover the gender of our babies until birth, I will be referring to Matthew as "the baby" throughout the post.
If you had the displeasure of being around me during the late stages of my pregnancy with Julia, my third born, you know I was going practically out of my mind with anxiety about the birth of the child. This time was different. I did not give in to the crazy nesting phase that told me I needed to work myself to exhaustion everyday, and having learned through Julia's birth that even when everything goes "wrong," it can still turn out wonderful, I wasn't allowing myself the usual "when is labor going to happen?!" woes. My husband kept marveling at how sane I was. I kept marveling. I was two weeks away from giving birth and perfectly, blissfully sane.
Then disaster struck. To me, the stomach flu is right up there with nuclear warfare. I'm sorry to appear to over-dramatize, but I grew up in a family of seven children. If one of us got the stomach flu, it was a matter of time before you were next. And once it was in the home, it was like a guest that overstays its welcome until spring. If you mention casually that your stomach hurts, I am likely to flee to the nearest hand sanitizer and avoid you like the plague until I am certain that you are not contagious (which in my mind means some time next summer). Call me overly paranoid and I won't deny it. There are few things I hate more than when my kids get sick with the stomach flu.
So here I am, two weeks away from my delivery date, enjoying my sanity-induced, peace-filled slumber (not the usual late stage lack of sleep as I try to will myself into contracting), when I am awoken by my brother who lives with us. He is sick. Very sick. And I start freaking out. I wake my husband, informing him that no, I am not in labor, but The. Worst. Possible. Thing. Has. Happened. I can't fall back asleep. I can't stop fretting, so I start praying and pleading. It was the longest time I have ever remained in constant prayer. Somewhere in the night I received a sense of peace. I felt that God had assured me that He was going to protect me and my family. I ran with the comfort, straight to my pillow to eek out the last few minutes of sleep that the night held before the rest of my family awakened.
Brad was quarantined to his bedroom and I began a sanitation process that could only be described as thorough and Hazmat-worthy. I was determined that I would not be dealing with the stomach flu in my household minutes before welcoming a newborn into the world, but even more than my determination, I remind myself of the confidence I had that God had assured me that I would be protected, along with my family.
Fast forward two days when I find myself on the bathroom floor denying the inevitable, waiting for my husband to arrive home so he can tend to the children I have abandoned. Only, as he drives home, it hits him too. I have been on the bathroom floor for several hours when I allow the full extent of my emotions to wash over me. God has abandoned me. God has lied to me. God is angry with me. I don't understand God. I don't understand His ways. I don't understand His purposes. I don't understand His messages of peace and comfort. This was NOT supposed to be happening.
I am ashamed with my feelings, but they are undeniably real to me as I grow weak with dehydration and pain. I can't pray. I am angry. I am hurt. I am terrified.
I realize how weak my faith is to have been shaken by a bout of the stomach flu, but it wasn't the illness that did the shaking. It was what I had interpreted to be God's intentions, and discovering I had read Him all wrong. My husband, who is now just as ill as I am, drives me the long way to the hospital where I receive fluids and face the fear, as the monitor detects contractions, that I might go into labor in the midst of this misery. Even as I plead with God that this not be the case- that I not have to welcome this precious life with a face mask and fear- I know that I am entitled to no such leniency. I feel completely powerless and under the heel of God's Will. I have no bargaining power in a faith that has waned away with the day. I have lost sight of His love which is all that has ever given me hope in this world.
I wrestle with God like Jacob in the wilderness and I wait for my wound, my battle scar. Because I can't deny His existence; It's been there too long, so I'm not coming out of this unscathed, am I? That's what scares me. That's what makes me feel unable to face God and the rest of the world. I've used my own confidence in my faith as the reason I am entitled to the goodness in my life. Because I believe so confidently, God will take care of me. And now facing down the toilet- what I thought I had been assured I would not face- I feel my confidence being flushed, wretched right out of me. Surely God won't care for me now, because my belief that He is good is fading with my strength. I feel toyed with. I try not to admit it, but I do. I can't hide these emotions from Him, so I expose them in my flood of tears. Verses come to mind of protection and love and assurances and I feel like I can't discern their meanings anymore. What is "protection" and how have I misinterpreted what I "heard" last night? If not God's voice, than whose?
I call to mind the sufferings of Job and David and the disciples and think of what a joke I am compared to their un-yeilding faith. I can't make pleas to their god. They never doubted He was good. I have fallen from favor. I can't ask for mercy. I can only submit to what is to come. I switch into this cautionary relationship with God. He is Potter; I am clay, but suddenly the clay fears the Potter's intentions. I ask for my faith to be restored, but I don't even feel entitled to that request. I feel like an unfaithful lover, asking for trust. Because the truth is, I know God loves me and I know He has a plan for me, but I suddenly feel very, very unworthy. For the first time in my life, I feel totally unworthy of His love and it does not feel good. Maybe I am not making the connection clear here, but I always felt (whether I admitted it or not) that His love was quite contingent on my faith and my feelings toward Him. Quite frankly, I didn't feel loved in the throes of illness, because it wasn't what I wanted! And feeling that way- even while knowing in my very heart of hearts all of the promises of God's love- made me feel at risk of being abandoned by God.
The following day, as I slowly recovered, I felt a gratefulness to God for the healing I didn't deserve and the baby still safely nestled in my womb. But I still felt unloveable. I felt as one does after knowingly disappointing another- cautious, uncertain, ashamed. I approached God only with feeble prayer, as I faced children succumbing to the same illness. What could I ask Him for? Certainly no request of mine should be honored I thought, so I mumbled "Your Will" and wondered how much more of His Will in opposition to mine I could take.
I was exhausted, mentally and physically, but mostly I felt alien to my own thoughts; unable to go back to the place of peace that had always been my faith. I could not trust that God would love me when I was angry at Him.
My husband called from work, doing his daily check-in with his very pregnant wife, and shared some good news. An unexpected financial surprise. I started sobbing. Hysterically, he would probably say. "Why are you crying?" he asked, confused by my sudden affront of emotion. I tried to explain to him what a relief it was to hear that God was still blessing me even when I was doubting Him. It didn't make sense that He would and yet, it made perfect sense, because if there is one certainty about God that I have always known it is that His love doesn't make sense! It is not reasonable, not contingent or conditional, not logical, and not in any way based on how I feel about Him.
It didn't make sense! And suddenly, that was why everything started making sense again.
We survived the stomach flu. The baby stayed safely in my womb for an entire two weeks longer than I expected, as I typically deliver early. Each day that we stepped further away from the incident of illness was like a reminder of what "protection" means. It doesn't mean we don't face the battle. We face and we persevere. But beyond feeling protected from the physical fears of this world, I felt through this a spiritual protection of my faith that has given me a deeper understanding of God's love. Not because I love, but because He loves.
Having endured labor three times without any medication assistance, I knew I needed a focus for this approaching labor. I'm not sure why, but through every labor I have danced. I am a very uncoordinated individual and was reluctant to dance even at my own wedding because of the likelihood of injury, but when in labor with Colette, for some unknown reason, I began dancing and it brought great relief to the pain then and each labor after. It's kind of a Woodstock-ish sway, and I probably look completely bizarre to the nurses, but it works. With an expectation of this upcoming dance, I selected a song: "10,000 Reasons" by Matt Redman. I had heard it for the first time several months ago and had immediately selected it as my labor song.
When labor finally began, I whispered quietly to God, "Let's dance." And we did. It was a dance of forgiveness, a dance of restoration, a make-up dance of sorts. I danced like a child standing on her Father's feet, just following His steps and feeling loved. And He danced with me that dance that makes every little girl feel that love that even her disobedience and unfaithfulness cannot turn away.
Matthew Jonathan Koudelka danced into our lives on December 20th. His name means "Gift of God."
If you had the displeasure of being around me during the late stages of my pregnancy with Julia, my third born, you know I was going practically out of my mind with anxiety about the birth of the child. This time was different. I did not give in to the crazy nesting phase that told me I needed to work myself to exhaustion everyday, and having learned through Julia's birth that even when everything goes "wrong," it can still turn out wonderful, I wasn't allowing myself the usual "when is labor going to happen?!" woes. My husband kept marveling at how sane I was. I kept marveling. I was two weeks away from giving birth and perfectly, blissfully sane.
Then disaster struck. To me, the stomach flu is right up there with nuclear warfare. I'm sorry to appear to over-dramatize, but I grew up in a family of seven children. If one of us got the stomach flu, it was a matter of time before you were next. And once it was in the home, it was like a guest that overstays its welcome until spring. If you mention casually that your stomach hurts, I am likely to flee to the nearest hand sanitizer and avoid you like the plague until I am certain that you are not contagious (which in my mind means some time next summer). Call me overly paranoid and I won't deny it. There are few things I hate more than when my kids get sick with the stomach flu.
So here I am, two weeks away from my delivery date, enjoying my sanity-induced, peace-filled slumber (not the usual late stage lack of sleep as I try to will myself into contracting), when I am awoken by my brother who lives with us. He is sick. Very sick. And I start freaking out. I wake my husband, informing him that no, I am not in labor, but The. Worst. Possible. Thing. Has. Happened. I can't fall back asleep. I can't stop fretting, so I start praying and pleading. It was the longest time I have ever remained in constant prayer. Somewhere in the night I received a sense of peace. I felt that God had assured me that He was going to protect me and my family. I ran with the comfort, straight to my pillow to eek out the last few minutes of sleep that the night held before the rest of my family awakened.
Brad was quarantined to his bedroom and I began a sanitation process that could only be described as thorough and Hazmat-worthy. I was determined that I would not be dealing with the stomach flu in my household minutes before welcoming a newborn into the world, but even more than my determination, I remind myself of the confidence I had that God had assured me that I would be protected, along with my family.
Fast forward two days when I find myself on the bathroom floor denying the inevitable, waiting for my husband to arrive home so he can tend to the children I have abandoned. Only, as he drives home, it hits him too. I have been on the bathroom floor for several hours when I allow the full extent of my emotions to wash over me. God has abandoned me. God has lied to me. God is angry with me. I don't understand God. I don't understand His ways. I don't understand His purposes. I don't understand His messages of peace and comfort. This was NOT supposed to be happening.
I am ashamed with my feelings, but they are undeniably real to me as I grow weak with dehydration and pain. I can't pray. I am angry. I am hurt. I am terrified.
I realize how weak my faith is to have been shaken by a bout of the stomach flu, but it wasn't the illness that did the shaking. It was what I had interpreted to be God's intentions, and discovering I had read Him all wrong. My husband, who is now just as ill as I am, drives me the long way to the hospital where I receive fluids and face the fear, as the monitor detects contractions, that I might go into labor in the midst of this misery. Even as I plead with God that this not be the case- that I not have to welcome this precious life with a face mask and fear- I know that I am entitled to no such leniency. I feel completely powerless and under the heel of God's Will. I have no bargaining power in a faith that has waned away with the day. I have lost sight of His love which is all that has ever given me hope in this world.
I wrestle with God like Jacob in the wilderness and I wait for my wound, my battle scar. Because I can't deny His existence; It's been there too long, so I'm not coming out of this unscathed, am I? That's what scares me. That's what makes me feel unable to face God and the rest of the world. I've used my own confidence in my faith as the reason I am entitled to the goodness in my life. Because I believe so confidently, God will take care of me. And now facing down the toilet- what I thought I had been assured I would not face- I feel my confidence being flushed, wretched right out of me. Surely God won't care for me now, because my belief that He is good is fading with my strength. I feel toyed with. I try not to admit it, but I do. I can't hide these emotions from Him, so I expose them in my flood of tears. Verses come to mind of protection and love and assurances and I feel like I can't discern their meanings anymore. What is "protection" and how have I misinterpreted what I "heard" last night? If not God's voice, than whose?
I call to mind the sufferings of Job and David and the disciples and think of what a joke I am compared to their un-yeilding faith. I can't make pleas to their god. They never doubted He was good. I have fallen from favor. I can't ask for mercy. I can only submit to what is to come. I switch into this cautionary relationship with God. He is Potter; I am clay, but suddenly the clay fears the Potter's intentions. I ask for my faith to be restored, but I don't even feel entitled to that request. I feel like an unfaithful lover, asking for trust. Because the truth is, I know God loves me and I know He has a plan for me, but I suddenly feel very, very unworthy. For the first time in my life, I feel totally unworthy of His love and it does not feel good. Maybe I am not making the connection clear here, but I always felt (whether I admitted it or not) that His love was quite contingent on my faith and my feelings toward Him. Quite frankly, I didn't feel loved in the throes of illness, because it wasn't what I wanted! And feeling that way- even while knowing in my very heart of hearts all of the promises of God's love- made me feel at risk of being abandoned by God.
The following day, as I slowly recovered, I felt a gratefulness to God for the healing I didn't deserve and the baby still safely nestled in my womb. But I still felt unloveable. I felt as one does after knowingly disappointing another- cautious, uncertain, ashamed. I approached God only with feeble prayer, as I faced children succumbing to the same illness. What could I ask Him for? Certainly no request of mine should be honored I thought, so I mumbled "Your Will" and wondered how much more of His Will in opposition to mine I could take.
I was exhausted, mentally and physically, but mostly I felt alien to my own thoughts; unable to go back to the place of peace that had always been my faith. I could not trust that God would love me when I was angry at Him.
My husband called from work, doing his daily check-in with his very pregnant wife, and shared some good news. An unexpected financial surprise. I started sobbing. Hysterically, he would probably say. "Why are you crying?" he asked, confused by my sudden affront of emotion. I tried to explain to him what a relief it was to hear that God was still blessing me even when I was doubting Him. It didn't make sense that He would and yet, it made perfect sense, because if there is one certainty about God that I have always known it is that His love doesn't make sense! It is not reasonable, not contingent or conditional, not logical, and not in any way based on how I feel about Him.
It didn't make sense! And suddenly, that was why everything started making sense again.
We survived the stomach flu. The baby stayed safely in my womb for an entire two weeks longer than I expected, as I typically deliver early. Each day that we stepped further away from the incident of illness was like a reminder of what "protection" means. It doesn't mean we don't face the battle. We face and we persevere. But beyond feeling protected from the physical fears of this world, I felt through this a spiritual protection of my faith that has given me a deeper understanding of God's love. Not because I love, but because He loves.
Having endured labor three times without any medication assistance, I knew I needed a focus for this approaching labor. I'm not sure why, but through every labor I have danced. I am a very uncoordinated individual and was reluctant to dance even at my own wedding because of the likelihood of injury, but when in labor with Colette, for some unknown reason, I began dancing and it brought great relief to the pain then and each labor after. It's kind of a Woodstock-ish sway, and I probably look completely bizarre to the nurses, but it works. With an expectation of this upcoming dance, I selected a song: "10,000 Reasons" by Matt Redman. I had heard it for the first time several months ago and had immediately selected it as my labor song.
When labor finally began, I whispered quietly to God, "Let's dance." And we did. It was a dance of forgiveness, a dance of restoration, a make-up dance of sorts. I danced like a child standing on her Father's feet, just following His steps and feeling loved. And He danced with me that dance that makes every little girl feel that love that even her disobedience and unfaithfulness cannot turn away.
Matthew Jonathan Koudelka danced into our lives on December 20th. His name means "Gift of God."
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Woes of a Wannabe Author
Most of you know that I have been working on my first novel for the past year. Though I have longed to be an author my entire life (I can prove it because I have plenty of elementary school "When I grow up" essays as evidence), I have never taken my writing as seriously as God intended me to. The blog was my first attempt at committing to writing. After a year of blogging regularly, I took the leap to start a novel with a timeline to finish in a year.
I suppose you can say I accomplished that goal in that I have a 92,000 word, 172 page document with a beginning, middle and end. The actual sense of accomplishment that I thought I would feel at this point has been elusive.
Writing a novel is a funny thing. I think most authors start out with a spark of inspiration and plot the idea. Often it is a specific purpose- a goal to express a certain idea- that brings on the story. I have heard it said many times by authors that characters reveal themselves to the writer as the book progresses. Never did I understand this until my characters started falling in love despite my intentions. There were times when my story took turns I never suspected. Perhaps I am a little surprised and baffled by my completed manuscript.
Most challenging was understanding the goal I wanted to accomplish with this book and then figuring out how to accomplish the goal. If I wanted a character to go through a particular catharsis, I had to plot events, conversations or even tragedies that would bring this growth about. Often I felt as though I were "playing God."
The experience of writing has been very spiritually revealing, not just in my commitment to finally use my gift for God's glory, but I received a new appreciation for God's mastery of story telling. He is the "Author and Perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God."
As a humble and uncertain author, I often wondered if my choice in plot was destroying my character. Sometimes I discovered it had done just that and I had to lay on the delete button for several minutes to restore some hope. Even now, I wonder if I sent them down the right path. I have opportunity still to change their past and redevelop their future before I send it off to a publisher with the hope of permanently securing their story between a professional looking cover. Maybe all of those possibilities toy with my sense of completion. But there was a particular tragedy that I felt was certain in this book; paramount to the revelation that I sought for my characters. Scary to think about when we consider the Author of our lives and yet, comforting. He's not hitting the delete button, or scrutinizing scenes and reconsidering. He's not making mistakes with what He sets before us. He's not pounding His head on the keyboard, wondering if He will ever come up with a solution. He knows that what He puts us through will work for the good of His perfect plan. Even tragedy and failure and uncertainty can bring about the revelation He intends for us.
As I balanced two main characters with a sprinkling of friends and family, and tried to figure out how to weave their thoughts and personalities for the good of the story, I often found myself overwhelmed. But Our God does not get overwhelmed with the details of our lives and how they impact others. How amazing is that! As I consider what a tough project this was- the times of frustration, the doubts, the fears, and the work- I am in awe of how perfect God's plan is and how it has been written from the very beginning; the end never changing! I know that as I bring this imperfect offering to His table, He will use it for His good purpose whatever that may be and again, I stand in awe.
I suppose you can say I accomplished that goal in that I have a 92,000 word, 172 page document with a beginning, middle and end. The actual sense of accomplishment that I thought I would feel at this point has been elusive.
Writing a novel is a funny thing. I think most authors start out with a spark of inspiration and plot the idea. Often it is a specific purpose- a goal to express a certain idea- that brings on the story. I have heard it said many times by authors that characters reveal themselves to the writer as the book progresses. Never did I understand this until my characters started falling in love despite my intentions. There were times when my story took turns I never suspected. Perhaps I am a little surprised and baffled by my completed manuscript.
Most challenging was understanding the goal I wanted to accomplish with this book and then figuring out how to accomplish the goal. If I wanted a character to go through a particular catharsis, I had to plot events, conversations or even tragedies that would bring this growth about. Often I felt as though I were "playing God."
The experience of writing has been very spiritually revealing, not just in my commitment to finally use my gift for God's glory, but I received a new appreciation for God's mastery of story telling. He is the "Author and Perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God."
As a humble and uncertain author, I often wondered if my choice in plot was destroying my character. Sometimes I discovered it had done just that and I had to lay on the delete button for several minutes to restore some hope. Even now, I wonder if I sent them down the right path. I have opportunity still to change their past and redevelop their future before I send it off to a publisher with the hope of permanently securing their story between a professional looking cover. Maybe all of those possibilities toy with my sense of completion. But there was a particular tragedy that I felt was certain in this book; paramount to the revelation that I sought for my characters. Scary to think about when we consider the Author of our lives and yet, comforting. He's not hitting the delete button, or scrutinizing scenes and reconsidering. He's not making mistakes with what He sets before us. He's not pounding His head on the keyboard, wondering if He will ever come up with a solution. He knows that what He puts us through will work for the good of His perfect plan. Even tragedy and failure and uncertainty can bring about the revelation He intends for us.
As I balanced two main characters with a sprinkling of friends and family, and tried to figure out how to weave their thoughts and personalities for the good of the story, I often found myself overwhelmed. But Our God does not get overwhelmed with the details of our lives and how they impact others. How amazing is that! As I consider what a tough project this was- the times of frustration, the doubts, the fears, and the work- I am in awe of how perfect God's plan is and how it has been written from the very beginning; the end never changing! I know that as I bring this imperfect offering to His table, He will use it for His good purpose whatever that may be and again, I stand in awe.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Gifts of Love Gone Unnoticed
This post was inspired by a book I am reading right now - One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp. You should read it, especially if you enjoy this post.
There are three things you should know about me before I officially begin this post: First- I used to love riding my bike. I could often be found doing laps for hours in the empty Kincheloe Elementary School parking lot of my hometown, Dowagiac, Michigan. I much preferred this to the dangerous and unpredictable terrain of the road. Second- I am not very observant. That is an odd thing for a writer to say, but any observing that I do is out of training and discipline. It does not come naturally for me. Third- Though I have revealed my challenges in housekeeping before, you should know that I was much more challenged by this when maintaining two jobs to put my husband through law school.
Now that you know these imperative details, I shall begin my post.
My husband, knowing that I missed riding a bike since I no longer owned one, bought me a bike one day while I was at work as a surprise. He wheeled it into our very messy apartment and parked it in the center of the small, cluttered living room. I came home from a long and tiring day and plopped myself on the couch next to my husband (in the small, cluttered living room now "decorated" with a new purple bike) and began whining about my day. My husband grinned and nodded; not a typical response to a complaining, cranky wife. It took me a moment to notice his out of place smile before I began looking around the room for the joke I was clearly missing out on. Once discovered, the bike seemed to stick out like a sore thumb, but I had so easily missed it!
We both laughed. I felt foolish and wonderfully in love with my thoughtful husband. Certainly, he could have announced that he had a gift for me, waved me over to the bike, or placed it out in front of the door in the open and obvious spaces of the hallway. There is an element of fun to gifts that are not so obvious.
I've been thinking about this story and the Giver of every good gift we have in our life. How often does He place in our midst these small gifts, knowing they should bring joy to our hearts, and instead we breeze past them; not noticing them in the clutter and chaos of our lives, and plop before Him and start moaning about all that is wrong with this world? I think pretty often.
I'm trying to imagine God now like my husband- a lover who enjoys to place before me gifts from His heart. He paints the sky vibrant in color for me, and it passes unacknowledged in a rush to get to church in time. He lays before me a feast of love in friendship and family that I pick at like a finicky child. He graces me with the treasure of a small child nestling in sleep at my neck in the moonlight quiet and I bemoan my bed growing cold without me.
Gifts from a lover gone unnoticed. He carves and molds and paints pleasures into my days, and I am willing to ignore them. Imagine how disheartening it would have been for my husband, had I never taken notice of the bike. It's a bit of a stretch, of course, that I would never see a bike in the middle of my living room- no matter the mess. But should it be any more of a stretch that I should never take notice of the good that God places before me, despite the messiness and busyness of my life?
Three beautiful, loud, rambunctious girls bullied their way into my slumber this morning. I threw back the covers, grumbled into the bathroom and left them there to soak up my warmth that was all there was remaining of my presence. Why?! I suppose it happens frequently around here- me being roused from sleep by Julia calling for Mama, and Mary and Colette, squealing and giggling, in the wake, but it's no less of a gift because it happens every day. They are filled with joy every morning as they reunite, as though the night was far longer than it felt for me. Whether they are blatantly thanking God or not, they are certainly relishing in that gift of good companionship every morning. What a lesson I should take from them!
Perhaps this is why the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these- these children that capture joy in the "smallest" of moments- His simple and pure, everyday gifts- while we adults scramble with our discontent to get bigger houses, better cars, and "easier" lifestyles. Right in the midst of climbing the ladder of discontent, God places in front of us that which could refresh our souls if only we pause to drink it in. We forget what we are thirsty for- love, joy, peace- supplied everyday in small gifts wrapped by Our Father in His love.
There are three things you should know about me before I officially begin this post: First- I used to love riding my bike. I could often be found doing laps for hours in the empty Kincheloe Elementary School parking lot of my hometown, Dowagiac, Michigan. I much preferred this to the dangerous and unpredictable terrain of the road. Second- I am not very observant. That is an odd thing for a writer to say, but any observing that I do is out of training and discipline. It does not come naturally for me. Third- Though I have revealed my challenges in housekeeping before, you should know that I was much more challenged by this when maintaining two jobs to put my husband through law school.
Now that you know these imperative details, I shall begin my post.
My husband, knowing that I missed riding a bike since I no longer owned one, bought me a bike one day while I was at work as a surprise. He wheeled it into our very messy apartment and parked it in the center of the small, cluttered living room. I came home from a long and tiring day and plopped myself on the couch next to my husband (in the small, cluttered living room now "decorated" with a new purple bike) and began whining about my day. My husband grinned and nodded; not a typical response to a complaining, cranky wife. It took me a moment to notice his out of place smile before I began looking around the room for the joke I was clearly missing out on. Once discovered, the bike seemed to stick out like a sore thumb, but I had so easily missed it!
We both laughed. I felt foolish and wonderfully in love with my thoughtful husband. Certainly, he could have announced that he had a gift for me, waved me over to the bike, or placed it out in front of the door in the open and obvious spaces of the hallway. There is an element of fun to gifts that are not so obvious.
I've been thinking about this story and the Giver of every good gift we have in our life. How often does He place in our midst these small gifts, knowing they should bring joy to our hearts, and instead we breeze past them; not noticing them in the clutter and chaos of our lives, and plop before Him and start moaning about all that is wrong with this world? I think pretty often.
I'm trying to imagine God now like my husband- a lover who enjoys to place before me gifts from His heart. He paints the sky vibrant in color for me, and it passes unacknowledged in a rush to get to church in time. He lays before me a feast of love in friendship and family that I pick at like a finicky child. He graces me with the treasure of a small child nestling in sleep at my neck in the moonlight quiet and I bemoan my bed growing cold without me.
Gifts from a lover gone unnoticed. He carves and molds and paints pleasures into my days, and I am willing to ignore them. Imagine how disheartening it would have been for my husband, had I never taken notice of the bike. It's a bit of a stretch, of course, that I would never see a bike in the middle of my living room- no matter the mess. But should it be any more of a stretch that I should never take notice of the good that God places before me, despite the messiness and busyness of my life?
Three beautiful, loud, rambunctious girls bullied their way into my slumber this morning. I threw back the covers, grumbled into the bathroom and left them there to soak up my warmth that was all there was remaining of my presence. Why?! I suppose it happens frequently around here- me being roused from sleep by Julia calling for Mama, and Mary and Colette, squealing and giggling, in the wake, but it's no less of a gift because it happens every day. They are filled with joy every morning as they reunite, as though the night was far longer than it felt for me. Whether they are blatantly thanking God or not, they are certainly relishing in that gift of good companionship every morning. What a lesson I should take from them!
Perhaps this is why the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these- these children that capture joy in the "smallest" of moments- His simple and pure, everyday gifts- while we adults scramble with our discontent to get bigger houses, better cars, and "easier" lifestyles. Right in the midst of climbing the ladder of discontent, God places in front of us that which could refresh our souls if only we pause to drink it in. We forget what we are thirsty for- love, joy, peace- supplied everyday in small gifts wrapped by Our Father in His love.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Where Are You Planted?
It's September which means that I have "lost" two to three hours out of my schedule which is now being dedicated to homeschooling a first grader and preschooler. Of course, it is not a true loss of time in that it serves a very valuable purpose, just a large adjustment that requires increased organization on my part. Truly, I value the time we have learning together. As a homeschooler, I am able to emphasize certain topics of interest and really be a part in my child's spiritual growth. These were all the expectations I had heading into the commitment.
What I did not expect was my own spiritual growth as a result of reading a kid's Bible or explaining memory verses to her. We are only into our second week, and I have already experienced this joy. Colette's memory work has been focusing on the first Psalm, which I have read many times before, but as Scripture often does, it has revealed itself in a new light. There is a beautiful visual of a tree in the verse, comparing it to a blessed man. The tree is planted by a river and so it flourishes with this direct access to water. Coming out of a very dry summer that required many waterings of the garden and a lawn that I gave up on, the verse struck a new chord with me. Even with my faithful attendance to the garden this year, it's yield was considerably lower than last year. The lack of the blessing of rain, no doubt, had it's effect.
So it made me consider how no matter where we are or live, we receive blessings that rain from heaven, sometimes sparsely and sometimes abundantly. Jesus said in Matthew 5:43-45 "You have heard that it was said, 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous." In other words, even those who do not realize the source, receive blessings from God.
But this Psalm speaks specifically to our ability to increase our blessings from God. It compares a man to a tree by describing that it is where we plant ourselves, that affects our spiritual blessings. A tree in a prairie will survive as long as it receives rain, but plant it by a river and it has a more certain case of survival. It is planted by the source of life and draws from that source, with less concern for the spontaneity of rain.
As the Psalm explains, a man has an ability to plant himself near the source of life. "Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked or stand in the way of sinners or sit in the seat of mockers. But his delight is in the law of the Lord, and on his law he meditates day and night." It is clear where you will find insufficient soil in the company that you keep and where you will find the source of life- in God's Holy Word.
It is followed by a promise for the man who wisely plants himself. "He is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither. Whatever he does prospers."
So where are you planting yourself? Consider how closely you surround yourself with God's Word, through prayer, worship and Bible Study. Are you feeding your spiritual tree from a regular source or are you leaving it to be watered infrequently? Examine what changes you need to make in your daily walk to bring about a good season of fruitful labors and if you choose your soil wisely, whatever you do will prosper!
What I did not expect was my own spiritual growth as a result of reading a kid's Bible or explaining memory verses to her. We are only into our second week, and I have already experienced this joy. Colette's memory work has been focusing on the first Psalm, which I have read many times before, but as Scripture often does, it has revealed itself in a new light. There is a beautiful visual of a tree in the verse, comparing it to a blessed man. The tree is planted by a river and so it flourishes with this direct access to water. Coming out of a very dry summer that required many waterings of the garden and a lawn that I gave up on, the verse struck a new chord with me. Even with my faithful attendance to the garden this year, it's yield was considerably lower than last year. The lack of the blessing of rain, no doubt, had it's effect.
So it made me consider how no matter where we are or live, we receive blessings that rain from heaven, sometimes sparsely and sometimes abundantly. Jesus said in Matthew 5:43-45 "You have heard that it was said, 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous." In other words, even those who do not realize the source, receive blessings from God.
But this Psalm speaks specifically to our ability to increase our blessings from God. It compares a man to a tree by describing that it is where we plant ourselves, that affects our spiritual blessings. A tree in a prairie will survive as long as it receives rain, but plant it by a river and it has a more certain case of survival. It is planted by the source of life and draws from that source, with less concern for the spontaneity of rain.
As the Psalm explains, a man has an ability to plant himself near the source of life. "Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked or stand in the way of sinners or sit in the seat of mockers. But his delight is in the law of the Lord, and on his law he meditates day and night." It is clear where you will find insufficient soil in the company that you keep and where you will find the source of life- in God's Holy Word.
It is followed by a promise for the man who wisely plants himself. "He is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither. Whatever he does prospers."
So where are you planting yourself? Consider how closely you surround yourself with God's Word, through prayer, worship and Bible Study. Are you feeding your spiritual tree from a regular source or are you leaving it to be watered infrequently? Examine what changes you need to make in your daily walk to bring about a good season of fruitful labors and if you choose your soil wisely, whatever you do will prosper!
Friday, August 10, 2012
Not the Mad Eyes!
There are moments in parenting where one can be tempted to groan about having to deal with a particular situation, or choose to be thankful that a discipline issue that has come to surface has given you an opportunity to discuss early on a matter that would not be as favorable as the child ages. Though the temptation to grumble was present, I had chosen to face the matter before me with the latter attitude. It's not every day that one has real life examples to discuss stealing (hopefully).
I remember a particular incident of stealing when I was a young child. My brother and I had discovered that our wrists were small enough to navigate the trap doors of toy vending machines. With the right angle and wiggle, we could grasp one of those plastic bubbles containing a small toy. In our mind it was brilliance, not stealing, so we didn't hide what we had done from our father once he had completed checking out at the local grocery store. I don't remember the specific discussion that entailed, but I do remember suddenly recognizing what I had done was, in fact, stealing and feeling very ashamed for my father having to return the item to the store.
Bearing that in mind, I remained calm about the life lesson Colette would receive when I discovered a plastic pirate coin in her pants pocket while doing laundry. I recognized it immediately as a "treasure" from a children's museum we had recently visited. I was certainly embarrassed and ashamed, but I also knew that an opportunity laid before me to teach my child right from wrong. In the hopes of drawing an immediate confession, I held up the coin for Colette to view and said, "Colette, would you like to tell Mommy where you got this?"
Her eyes grew large with fear and she shrugged her shoulders as convincingly as a 5 year old can muster. She attempted to prevent her face from registering any recognition, but her eyes had already given her away (that, and she had been caught red pocketed). I gently informed her that I already knew where it came from, so it would come as no surprise, but she was still required to tell me. In a state of panic she declared, "Someone must have slipped it in my pocket when I was playing!" *Note: How I have expertly not mentioned the location of discovery of the coin in question.
I will not replay the round-robin discussion that took place for the next half-hour with many tears over how I was not buying the innocent-bystander-of-someone-else's-deviance story. What was frustrating for us both was the stalemate we had both achieved. I knew that I could not allow her to hold onto that story, as there would be no learning from the infraction. She volleyed back with accusations of how I never believed her and why couldn't I just see that it was the truth?! But she was stuck in her misery; sniffling through her bedtime routine, eyeing me up to see if all was well between us.
I wanted all to be well, but I could not gather my distraught child into my arms and tell her she was forgiven and all would be okay, because she had not confessed to any wrong-doing. There would be no learning in that. In fact, I saw that it could lead down a very dangerous road, so I held my position, reminding her that I could not accept her story.
Finally, she said to me, "Mommy, I want to tell you what happened, but I can't tell you when you have the Mad Eyes." For the record, my husband, having much experience in wifely eye expression interpretation, can tell you I was wearing my Serious Eyes and not the Mad Eyes, but nonetheless; I giggled. It was the ice-breaker we needed. I told Colette that she had mis-interpretted my eyes, but either way, I was smiling now. I assured her that we would both feel better if she would tell me what happened and I silently prayed that she wouldn't try and pass off the same song and dance.
"I put the coin in my pocket because I liked it," Colette confessed.
And while no parent delights in their child confessing to something you thought you had taught them better about, I felt triumphant that we could move on to the forgiveness that had been dangling over her. We discussed how it was not a good decision and how we could make the situation right. And, we discussed how it was good that she was learning this lesson now, rather than when she was old enough for a police officer to get involved. I promised her that she was forgiven and that Mommy and Daddy still love her and we hugged and snuggled as I had longed to do from the moment she chose to turn from the truth.
And I learned a lot about the release of confession. Once again, as parenting has often lead me to do, I saw how frequently I am a crying and accusatory child holding to a distorted truth before an all-knowing God, Who longs to pull me out of my misery and offer the forgiveness sealed by the sacrifice of Christ.
"O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing." Matthew 23:37
How often we are not willing to accept the forgiveness, the comfort, and the protection of the wings of our Father who freely gives it to those who ask! Instead we choose to writhe in our misery and make false claims about our situation. This is how sin holds us captive from the love that God offers. We create a barrier between ourself and God when we refuse to confess our sin. Just as I could not gather Colette in my arms and offer her forgiveness without her confession, so do we create that same barrier with Christ. How could I offer true forgiveness for a crime she did not own? And though I could forgive her in my heart, she could not know the release of that forgiveness if she was not first willing to know the offense of her sin. So though Christ's forgiveness was completed on the cross 2,000 years before you committed the sins He paid for, you will never know what a blessing that forgiveness is unless you openly place before Him your confession. No fear of "Mad Eyes" as we humbly come to the cross. Those are His Love Eyes; the ones that lead Him to the cross in the first place.
"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon Me and come and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. You will seek Me and find Me when you seek Me with all your heart. I will be found by you,' declares the Lord, 'and will bring you back from captivity.'" Jeremiah 29:11-14 Do not be held captive in your sin, but seek Him and you will be found.
I remember a particular incident of stealing when I was a young child. My brother and I had discovered that our wrists were small enough to navigate the trap doors of toy vending machines. With the right angle and wiggle, we could grasp one of those plastic bubbles containing a small toy. In our mind it was brilliance, not stealing, so we didn't hide what we had done from our father once he had completed checking out at the local grocery store. I don't remember the specific discussion that entailed, but I do remember suddenly recognizing what I had done was, in fact, stealing and feeling very ashamed for my father having to return the item to the store.
Bearing that in mind, I remained calm about the life lesson Colette would receive when I discovered a plastic pirate coin in her pants pocket while doing laundry. I recognized it immediately as a "treasure" from a children's museum we had recently visited. I was certainly embarrassed and ashamed, but I also knew that an opportunity laid before me to teach my child right from wrong. In the hopes of drawing an immediate confession, I held up the coin for Colette to view and said, "Colette, would you like to tell Mommy where you got this?"
Her eyes grew large with fear and she shrugged her shoulders as convincingly as a 5 year old can muster. She attempted to prevent her face from registering any recognition, but her eyes had already given her away (that, and she had been caught red pocketed). I gently informed her that I already knew where it came from, so it would come as no surprise, but she was still required to tell me. In a state of panic she declared, "Someone must have slipped it in my pocket when I was playing!" *Note: How I have expertly not mentioned the location of discovery of the coin in question.
I will not replay the round-robin discussion that took place for the next half-hour with many tears over how I was not buying the innocent-bystander-of-someone-else's-deviance story. What was frustrating for us both was the stalemate we had both achieved. I knew that I could not allow her to hold onto that story, as there would be no learning from the infraction. She volleyed back with accusations of how I never believed her and why couldn't I just see that it was the truth?! But she was stuck in her misery; sniffling through her bedtime routine, eyeing me up to see if all was well between us.
I wanted all to be well, but I could not gather my distraught child into my arms and tell her she was forgiven and all would be okay, because she had not confessed to any wrong-doing. There would be no learning in that. In fact, I saw that it could lead down a very dangerous road, so I held my position, reminding her that I could not accept her story.
Finally, she said to me, "Mommy, I want to tell you what happened, but I can't tell you when you have the Mad Eyes." For the record, my husband, having much experience in wifely eye expression interpretation, can tell you I was wearing my Serious Eyes and not the Mad Eyes, but nonetheless; I giggled. It was the ice-breaker we needed. I told Colette that she had mis-interpretted my eyes, but either way, I was smiling now. I assured her that we would both feel better if she would tell me what happened and I silently prayed that she wouldn't try and pass off the same song and dance.
"I put the coin in my pocket because I liked it," Colette confessed.
And while no parent delights in their child confessing to something you thought you had taught them better about, I felt triumphant that we could move on to the forgiveness that had been dangling over her. We discussed how it was not a good decision and how we could make the situation right. And, we discussed how it was good that she was learning this lesson now, rather than when she was old enough for a police officer to get involved. I promised her that she was forgiven and that Mommy and Daddy still love her and we hugged and snuggled as I had longed to do from the moment she chose to turn from the truth.
And I learned a lot about the release of confession. Once again, as parenting has often lead me to do, I saw how frequently I am a crying and accusatory child holding to a distorted truth before an all-knowing God, Who longs to pull me out of my misery and offer the forgiveness sealed by the sacrifice of Christ.
"O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing." Matthew 23:37
How often we are not willing to accept the forgiveness, the comfort, and the protection of the wings of our Father who freely gives it to those who ask! Instead we choose to writhe in our misery and make false claims about our situation. This is how sin holds us captive from the love that God offers. We create a barrier between ourself and God when we refuse to confess our sin. Just as I could not gather Colette in my arms and offer her forgiveness without her confession, so do we create that same barrier with Christ. How could I offer true forgiveness for a crime she did not own? And though I could forgive her in my heart, she could not know the release of that forgiveness if she was not first willing to know the offense of her sin. So though Christ's forgiveness was completed on the cross 2,000 years before you committed the sins He paid for, you will never know what a blessing that forgiveness is unless you openly place before Him your confession. No fear of "Mad Eyes" as we humbly come to the cross. Those are His Love Eyes; the ones that lead Him to the cross in the first place.
"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon Me and come and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. You will seek Me and find Me when you seek Me with all your heart. I will be found by you,' declares the Lord, 'and will bring you back from captivity.'" Jeremiah 29:11-14 Do not be held captive in your sin, but seek Him and you will be found.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Dirty Dish Prayer List
Awhile ago my dishwasher decided to stop working. I called in a repairman who couldn't get it to work, suggested a new one, and charged me $50. He also said before we got a new one we needed to have some electrical work done. My husband touched the dishwasher that night and it miraculously started working, but it's been given to occasional temperamental behavior so I've stopped using it altogether except as the world's largest dish drying rack. This means I spend a lot of time everyday at the kitchen sink, staring at the minty green wall in front of me.
It has actually been surprisingly convenient because I never have to wait for the dishwasher to be full to run a cycle, which means I never have dirty utensil that I am waiting to use. But it has required additional time out of my day and so to best utilize that time I put a message board on the wall in front of me and having been listing prayer requests. Now I pray over those dirty dishes for friends and family who are facing trials. If you've recently exposed a concern to me, I have probably prayed about it while scrubbing away at finger-smudged glasses and stubbornly stained casserole dishes.
I have been wanting to share the idea on the blog for a couple of weeks now, but other than presenting it as a good idea, I couldn't think of much more to write about. Until today.
The funny thing with washing the dishes after every meal is the monotony of the dishes used. Where it used to be that dirty breakfast dishes were waiting patiently in the dishwasher to be joined by dirty lunch dishes, now I often take the clean breakfast dishes from the dishwasher and use them for lunch and the same happens at dinner. For this reason we don't rotate through as many plates and cups as we once did. It's really the epitome of motherhood. We clean up, just to get dirty again and just when we are satisfied with what we have accomplished, somebody needs a drink of water... or spills something on their shirt... or dumps the toy bin. And then it's time for dinner.
So this morning while washing the breakfast dishes and bemoaning how it would be a mere three hours before I would be wiping down the same Disney princess plate, it occurred to me how monotonous sin can be in our life. And what a good practice regular prayer was to wipe that slate clean. Because I know what it's like to let the dishes pile up through the day and the task is much more daunting then.
Just as it is a given that a day will lead to dirty dishes and laundry that will require tending, it is just as likely that my day will become mired with my sins and Somebody will have to clean up after me. In any given day, I face the trials of losing my temper, thinking unkind thoughts, serving myself, giving into laziness and gluttony, and a whole host of other unattractive dirt.
It's funny how my prayer list over the dirty dishes included everybody but myself. As if I might have it altogether! (Pardon the long pause while I laugh at the irony a bit)...
....
....
The truth is we all need to be wiped clean daily from the build-up of living in a world of sin. "Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord." Acts 3:19
One more comparison that I would like to make with dirty dishes and sin. Have you ever done a sink of dishes only to get to that pesky last casserole dish that is caked with burned cheese and you think, maybe it would just be easier to let it soak for a bit? So you put it in the water and leave it there over night only to be faced with it in the morning and now you have murky water with floaty cheese bits and you dread sticking your hand in there because who knows what else is lurking? No?! You haven't? *Ahem* Me either. But let's imagine for a moment that you have had that experience. And let's imagine that instead of dishes, we're talking sin.
Sometimes, it's easy to approach those obvious "little" sins and say, "I'm done with that!" We wash them up and pack them away, content to never use them again. And then there is the casserole dish sin. The one that's a little more cooked in and requires a lot more work and we decide to just let it soak for a bit because it sounds easier than approaching the disaster head-on and investing a little more time and energy. But it's never any prettier in the morning, is it? Those sins might require a little steel wool scrubbing, but it's best just to get it over with. What an assurance we have in Christ that, "If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness." 1 John 1:9
And now that I have completed this task, onward to some dirty dishes and laundry! Please feel free to email me or comment below if you would like to be included on the Dirty Dish Prayer List!
It has actually been surprisingly convenient because I never have to wait for the dishwasher to be full to run a cycle, which means I never have dirty utensil that I am waiting to use. But it has required additional time out of my day and so to best utilize that time I put a message board on the wall in front of me and having been listing prayer requests. Now I pray over those dirty dishes for friends and family who are facing trials. If you've recently exposed a concern to me, I have probably prayed about it while scrubbing away at finger-smudged glasses and stubbornly stained casserole dishes.
I have been wanting to share the idea on the blog for a couple of weeks now, but other than presenting it as a good idea, I couldn't think of much more to write about. Until today.
The funny thing with washing the dishes after every meal is the monotony of the dishes used. Where it used to be that dirty breakfast dishes were waiting patiently in the dishwasher to be joined by dirty lunch dishes, now I often take the clean breakfast dishes from the dishwasher and use them for lunch and the same happens at dinner. For this reason we don't rotate through as many plates and cups as we once did. It's really the epitome of motherhood. We clean up, just to get dirty again and just when we are satisfied with what we have accomplished, somebody needs a drink of water... or spills something on their shirt... or dumps the toy bin. And then it's time for dinner.
So this morning while washing the breakfast dishes and bemoaning how it would be a mere three hours before I would be wiping down the same Disney princess plate, it occurred to me how monotonous sin can be in our life. And what a good practice regular prayer was to wipe that slate clean. Because I know what it's like to let the dishes pile up through the day and the task is much more daunting then.
Just as it is a given that a day will lead to dirty dishes and laundry that will require tending, it is just as likely that my day will become mired with my sins and Somebody will have to clean up after me. In any given day, I face the trials of losing my temper, thinking unkind thoughts, serving myself, giving into laziness and gluttony, and a whole host of other unattractive dirt.
It's funny how my prayer list over the dirty dishes included everybody but myself. As if I might have it altogether! (Pardon the long pause while I laugh at the irony a bit)...
....
....
The truth is we all need to be wiped clean daily from the build-up of living in a world of sin. "Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord." Acts 3:19
One more comparison that I would like to make with dirty dishes and sin. Have you ever done a sink of dishes only to get to that pesky last casserole dish that is caked with burned cheese and you think, maybe it would just be easier to let it soak for a bit? So you put it in the water and leave it there over night only to be faced with it in the morning and now you have murky water with floaty cheese bits and you dread sticking your hand in there because who knows what else is lurking? No?! You haven't? *Ahem* Me either. But let's imagine for a moment that you have had that experience. And let's imagine that instead of dishes, we're talking sin.
Sometimes, it's easy to approach those obvious "little" sins and say, "I'm done with that!" We wash them up and pack them away, content to never use them again. And then there is the casserole dish sin. The one that's a little more cooked in and requires a lot more work and we decide to just let it soak for a bit because it sounds easier than approaching the disaster head-on and investing a little more time and energy. But it's never any prettier in the morning, is it? Those sins might require a little steel wool scrubbing, but it's best just to get it over with. What an assurance we have in Christ that, "If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness." 1 John 1:9
And now that I have completed this task, onward to some dirty dishes and laundry! Please feel free to email me or comment below if you would like to be included on the Dirty Dish Prayer List!
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