Empty Easter

It took quite a bit of mental strength to pull out the Easter decorations this year. I didn’t want to acknowledge that Easter was coming. Despite the date on the calendar, it wouldn’t be Easter, not without gathering in church. What was the point of the rest of the charades? Church was talking about celebrating Easter once we were allowed to gather again; I pondered if it would be best to put off our festivities at home as well.

It all felt empty. Maybe you are feeling it too. How can we celebrate Easter when all of the churches will be empty? It is contrary to everything a Christian believes. We want full churches with the fellowship of believers. We want our ears filled with the cries of “He is risen! He is risen, indeed!” We want to fill our hearts with the communion of saints and our souls with the breaking of the bread.

What can possibly be done with this emptiness?! Our pastor asked for thoughts on how we should celebrate Easter this year with an empty church and my mind drew a blank. Empty.

I’m a traditional kind of girl. I like certain songs for certain seasons sung a certain kind of way. And I like certain seasonal foods and certain routines of observances. I found myself struggling with how one can possibly celebrate Easter without all of that. My kids had begun voicing their expectations for the coming celebration and my heart couldn’t respond to the demand.

During my morning prayer walk, I cried out to God and asked Him how we were supposed to fill the emptiness this year and softly, slowly I heard the response.

Empty is where I work best. I fill empty. Empty is why we celebrate Easter.  

Maybe empty churches this year will fill us with the understanding that we ARE the church and we will fill our homes with the rejoicing we sometimes reserve for the building.

Maybe the emptiness we feel from unfulfilled traditions will turn our hearts to experiencing the lasting joy of an Easter that remains outside of any tradition, for He IS risen; He is risen, indeed!

Maybe the emptiness of our schedules will allow us to fill our time with drawing near to God through reading His Word and being devoted to prayer.

Maybe the longing for fellowship and the freedom to worship collectively again, with fill us with the reminder that throughout the world there are believers that can never meet and rejoice openly without risking their lives.

Maybe the empty store shelves that are preventing some of our traditional Easter spread, will fill us with the desire to be satisfied with less and be grateful for simplicity.

Maybe empty is exactly what we needed but the last thing we would have asked for, just like that very first Easter. Maybe God is emptying the tombs of our hearts so they can be filled entirely by Him.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope. Rom. 15:13

When The Floor Only Looks Clean

It started back when we were selling the house and would get last minute showings when the house was always at its dirtiest.  Perhaps I used, "Mommy's a little stressed out right now," one too many times to excuse poor parenting and bad temper flares, but it has led to Mary regularly praying, "And please don't let Mommy be too stressed out today."  I'm not sure if she is really concerned about my stress or if she just knows that it's not to her benefit when Mommy is stressed and cranky.  Either way, she prays it so often that I started having a guilt complex.

At lunch today, when she thanked God for our food and requested of Him that Mommy not be too "stessdid out," I thought to myself, "I'm not stressed at all!  I've got everything under control today."  It was an entirely unneeded prayer.  After all, the day was ahead of schedule and any plans that I had were not fully necessary ones so I could abandon ship at any point.  The house was relatively clean and I was looking forward to some relaxation this evening with some fun plans in store.  No stress here!  Take that prayer request for someone who truly needs it, because I've got things under control here, God.

The girls began eating their lunch and I was sitting for the first extended period this morning, reading an article.  It started quietly enough, but I could tell Mary was instructing Colette on something that would soon escalate into a fight.  Apparently Colette was pushing two 1/2 inch pieces of abandoned string from some project into Mary's territory.  Maybe Mary had already sent them Colette's way; I'm not sure, but for whatever childish reason, it was causing them both angst to have the strings close to their plates. I told the girls to leave the strings alone and to not talk about them anymore.  "Just eat your lunch," I commanded.  It's a simple enough request, isn't it?

But no.  Apparently there was some danger or threat or contagion exemplified in these strings and all methods of territorial protections were being taken, including heavy breathing so as to blow the strings away.  Mary, pretending to be non-chalantly resting her hand on the table, cupped her hand over the strings.  I'm not sure why this made her feel secure since the battle seemed all about getting as far away from the strings as possible (without, of course, doing something reasonable like taking them to the trash or changing seats) and now her skin was a mere centimeter away from coming into contact with that which she so greatly feared.  Her older and wiser sister saw the vulnerable position she had put herself in and took full advantage by placing her hand atop Mary's and then pressing downward.  This sent Mary into a flurry of tears and Colette assumed full innocence complete with wide eyes and the perplexed look that says, "I have no idea what her problem is!"

I lost it.  I mean, I really lost it.  Scary Mommy style; like neck veins bulging and eyes popping and teeth gritting.  It bubbled up out of me out of nowhere with no excuse of being tired or cranky or stressed, but just that I was blown away by the stupidity of the entire argument. I screamed about how stupid they were both behaving and we don't use that word so they jolted as I repeated it and told them it was warranted because that was exactly how they were acting.  I begged for understanding of what threat the strings posed without waiting for explanations.  I stomped my foot and demanded that the strings be immediately disposed of and threatened that if I heard one more sniffle or huff or argument regarding the TWO STUPID STRINGS that I would send them to individual rooms where they would spend the rest of their afternoon leaving me alone.  And then I gasped for breath after my tirade and called lunch to an end while the children scattered with their tails between their legs, leaving me to feel lousy as could be.

I sat on the floor in the corner of my kitchen contemplating how I allowed myself to completely lose my cool like that when I really wasn't in my usual vulnerable states that lead to lost temper- hungry, tired, stressed, cranky.  Everything had been going so well today.  I had spent the morning cleaning and was feeling rather accomplished, but as I sat on the floor that had been mopped only an hour before I got a close-up view of the grime that had been missed.  I thought the floor was clean, but it really wasn't clean at all.  There were crumbs wedged in corners, and fresh ones from lunch, and sticky spots that had just streaked from mopping instead of being removed.  From this point of view, up close, it didn't really look clean at all and I had been feeling pretty good about the work that I had done just a little bit ago.

Are you making the connection I did or should I paint it a little clearer for you?  I felt an awful lot like that floor in that moment of self-loathing.  From a distance, I can put on a pretty good appearance of being squeaky clean but when you get up close and personal, the view is really quite gross.  Oh, I do my regular housekeeping- church attendance; Check!, Bible study; Check!, Prayer; Check!, but sometimes... a lot of the times... it's like the mop-job I did that morning, just wiping over a surface that's hiding lots of buildup and needs a hands and knees kind of clean.

So this is my hands and knees kind of clean.  It's not an easy job to expose to you how easily I am angered and how quickly that sin comes to surface, but I can't be cleansed without exposing the dirt and grime crammed in the corners and hiding in the dark places.  It's these moments when I think I've got it all under control on my own, not in need of the prayer, that sin leaps to the surface.  I am a whitewashed tomb as Jesus described in Matthew 23:27, "Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites!  You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of the bones of the dead and everything unclean."  I felt a lot like that, sitting on my dirty floor.  Just dead and rotting inside and spewing that rottenness at my children.

So I cried and confessed and hugged timid children, though it felt wrong to be allowed their embrace.  They are so forgiving.  Even more so is Our God.  I confess to you, because you might see a mom who "has it altogether," but it's often a whitewashed tomb concealing struggles and sin and rottenness and it's not fair to let you think otherwise.  No one ever has it altogether and is outside of the need of prayer and God's assistance in keeping a "clean home."  That's why Proverbs 28:13 promises, "He who covers his sins will not prosper, but the one who confesses and renounces them finds mercy."  Thank God there is mercy and grace, because I am so desperately in need of them.

Because You Say So

"Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!" Peter cried to Jesus, as he fell to his knees.  This account of Peter's repentance is found in Luke, Chapter 5 in the telling of the Miraculous Catch of Fish.  He asked God to leave his presence.  He knew he was not worthy to share the same air, the same boat, so he pleads with Jesus to leave.  What great sin had convicted Peter so?

Moments earlier, Jesus had instructed Peter to take his boat out to deeper water and let out his net for a catch of fish.  Peter was a fisherman.  He knew his trade well, so from his expertise he spoke, "Master, we've worked hard all night and haven't caught anything.  But because you say so, I will let down the nets."  

Peter's response could be interpreted two ways: He was willing to obey, because he trusted Jesus to know better than he- "But because you say so, I will let down the nets" Or, he was obeying because he respected Jesus, but didn't have much faith that his efforts would bear fruit.  I can't speak for Peter, but were I in his shoes, this is what underlying meaning would be wrapped up in those sentences:

  

                            1.  "We've worked hard all night"- I'm tired.  My work is done here.  The nets are                        clean.  Did I mention I just worked hard all night?

                            2.  "haven't caught anything."- Been there, done that, big fail, and I don't plan on wasting my time on it again any time too soon.

                            3.  "But because you say so..."- Fine! *Uttered with big, huffy exertion, and possible out of sight eye roll*  But I don't think this is a good idea...

                            4.  "I will let down the nets." - See me obeying?  That's what you want, isn't it?  You can't discipline me, because I'm just doing what I was told.

Peter wasn't yet a disciple, but Jesus had at least garnered some of his respect.  Peter had already experienced Jesus's miraculous healing of his mother-in-law in chapter 4.  Not to mention that, living in the region of Galilee, it would be unlikely he hadn't heard of the many other miracles Jesus had already performed at this early start of His ministry.  At minimum, he respected Jesus as a teacher, because he had allowed Jesus to use his boat as His podium for the speech He had just delivered to the crowd on the shore.  But in spite of this, it appears to me that Peter was reluctant to trust Jesus in the area that Peter knew best- fishing.  So it would seem a begrudging obedience that he guided the boat out into deeper waters and released his nets.  The kind of obedience where one expects to be able to shrug his shoulders and say, "I told you so," when the end results justify the resistance.

Only, they begin to catch so many fish, their nets begin to break and they have to wave over help.  It is then that we see Peter's repentant response, which makes me inclined to believe that Peter really was annoyed with Jesus's request and that he had obeyed in action, but not in heart.  Peter had admired Jesus's teaching.  He had witnessed miracles that were less easy to explain away as coincidence than a ginormous catch of fish, but it was this miracle that caught his attention.  Why?

I would argue it was because this miracle revealed the most to Peter about his personal relationship with God.  It was the moment that Peter understood "follow" in the active sense, rather than in the passive.   He still had not given God the full obedience that comes from the heart.  Peter had not given Him reign over his day to day.  Perhaps he didn't understand until this demonstration the interest that God had in his life personally.  

Peter was no doubt tired and deflated from a worthless night of work when Jesus instructed him to cast his net upon the water.  He was expecting nothing more from his efforts than to exacerbate those problems, but Christ was on the verge of refreshing his weary soul.  All Peter must do was follow.

It is precisely when our soul is tired and deflated that God beckons, "Follow."  When we have worried through the night, toiled to exhaustion, and run the failing race, that He meets us and says, "Cast your net and trust me."  The temptation to make excuses may rise up, but it is when we ignore temptation and look to God's instruction that we burst our nets with blessing.

Peter said, "Leave me Lord," but God told him that now, he was truly ready to follow.  Now Peter's heart was prepared for true discipleship.  Obedience is the primary lesson in this account.  Peter obeyed in action, but it revealed his resistant heart.  The trick with obedience is that each time it becomes a little easier to obey.  Sometimes we have to experience the results of our disobedience and sometimes we reap the reward of our obedience, but there will also be times when we are called to obedience without any visible results.  Even at those times, God is at work if only in molding our heart to be more receptive to His reign.

What I love about this story is how Peter's entire mission changes in moments.  He had spent the night seeking fish, because it was his means of survival.  But it was this miracle that made Peter leave the boat, heavy-ladened with the fish that had been so important to him only moments ago, and follow a whole new calling.

1 John 2:3-5  we know that we have come to know Him if we obey His commands.  The man who says, "I know him," but does not do what He commands is a liar, and the truth is not in him.  But if anyone obeys His Word, God's love is truly made complete in him.    

  

Even the Hair on my Head

I poked fun at my mom for her method of dividing food among her 7 children.  It was never a handful of grapes; it was 8 grapes.  Each child got two of every color of M&M's and you bet I felt the world had done me a great disservice when "they" did away with the tan ones.  No, she did not compensate.  It was years before blue came along.  She did what she had to do to manage a household of hungry children whom were quick to shout, "Not fair!" at any imbalance.  Now, though only half of my children can count, I find myself doing mental math at meals to make foods stretch and not leave one child empty-handed.   So, yes, I count grapes... and strawberries... and slices of pear.

Raspberries are expensive.  I purchase them on rare occasions when they are in-season.  I have a rule that fruit must never cost more than $.33 a serving.  It helps me make wise decisions in the grocery store when kids are requesting pricey produce and I'm at risk of making hasty decisions so I can just get out of the store with minimal sanity-loss.  I bought raspberries one day when they met The Rule criteria.  I washed them for lunch and put them on the table in their original container.  While distracted, the raspberries were consumed in what I can only imagine was at the speed of starved piranhas, because they were gone in seconds, leaving a mommy and two other children wanting.

"What happened to the raspberries?" I asked somewhat rhetorically.

"I ate them," said Guilty Piranha.

"Did you consider that someone else might have wanted some?" I asked, calculating that now to even the scales I would be shelling out big bucks for today's fruit rations.

"Well, you put them in front of me so I just thought those were mine," said the child, a bit ashamed.

It was an honest mistake, I suppose.  I suppose I can't expect a child to recognize that no one else had a box of raspberries at their seat, nor were there any other raspberries in sight.  I suppose I can't expect a child to realize that I have never portioned raspberries at the rate of a pint per child.  I suppose it was a fair assumption that what falls into the boundaries of your place setting becomes fair game.

I'm not trying to make a mountain out of raspberries.  They were just raspberries.  (Of course, try telling that to the kid that didn't get any.)  What I see in this little anecdote is a reflection of my own ignorant greed that causes me to assume what God put before me, He intends for my pleasure only.  I wonder how many times God has been frustrated- no, angered- at my greedy consumption.  How often do I look like a child, licking her fingers clean of the signs of over-indulgence while hungry onlookers wonder what made me so lucky?  I would be lying to myself if I said anything other than too often.

I know I painted this picture for you with food.  At the forefront of my mind when picturing "those in need," I see hungry faces.  But take a moment with humanity and you will find that "need" stretches beyond the tangible food and shelter.  Not to detract from offering in these areas, but I write today because I believe that God has blessed each one of us differently with the purpose that we should use those blessings for the good of others.  Financial inadequacy is no excuse for the absence of generosity.  There are so many ways we can share the blessings that we have and be a reflection of Christ in the life of others.

I've had long hair most of my life.  Shortly after my wedding eight-ish years ago, I decided it was time for a drastic cut and figured I might as well donate my hair if I planned to cut that much.  It was a win-win situation.  My hair seems to grow faster than average and I found myself in the same place of desiring a fresh look after the birth of my first child.  It was then that I made a commitment to grow my hair out and donate it for as long as I was able.  The timing has been such that I have an appropriate amount of hair for donating after 2 years of growth, which has worked out to be after the birth of each of my additional three children.

Only, I just didn't feel like it this time.  Matthew is a year old now, and I knew I was shirking my commitment, but I danced around it.  After all, it was MY hair and I like it long.  And then it was winter and cold and that hair can be so, so warm.  Long hair has a way of entangling itself around your identity.  And for any of you that are in the camp of "But long hair is so much work," let me introduce you to my friend The Ponytail, which when done correctly, does not even require brushing.  Short hair requires styling and fussing when it won't lay flat or flip in the right direction.  Ponytails alleviate all worries (except the one about looking more than apathetic about your appearance).

But the voice that accompanied me at every shampooing and tangle-tackling, reminded me that not even the hair on my head is mine.  I just don't believe that it is.  And what is faith if you are not acting on what you believe?  So the appointment was scheduled and the hair was shed and packaged in an envelope to be a blessing to someone who doesn't see it as just hair, because it doesn't grow for them.  I am blessed to be able to say, "It's just hair.  It'll grow back."

I feel lighter.  Not just in the weight of hair, but in heart, because I held on to something that wasn't mine for the keeping.  It's only hair, but it's a matter of the heart.  I hold on to too much under the guise of it being mine, when God has only placed it in my care for His purposes.  Money, food, shelter, talent, time, ability, knowledge, even the hair on my head- in all these things I can and must bring Him glory.  It is why He gave them to me.

I have so much more to give than has been given; so much that I choose to use for my own glory, rather than His.  Following Him is in the letting go.

Then Jesus said to his disciples, "I tell you the truth, it is hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.  Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God."  When the disciples heard this, they were greatly astonished and asked, "Who then can be saved?"  Jesus looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible."

 

A Message to Grandparents

It will most likely cost me a box of tissues to get through this blog post.  When my maternal grandmother passed away in September, I began a post that I had to abandon due to the tears.  Now with the loss of my paternal grandmother just days ago, I can't bear to not say a few things, especially with Christmas approaching.

I feel like I've cried buckets of tears over the last few days and they continue to come.  Mixed with the obvious tears of sorrow are ones of pride, regret, and oddly enough, joy. I was incredibly blessed by the family God chose to place me in.  I suppose I can't avoid sounding boastful of the blood that flows in these veins of mine, a mix of two incredible women that I share genes with.  Comparing the two is like comparing your favorite dessert with your favorite entree- they are in different worlds, appreciated for different purposes, satisfying different needs.

My maternal grandmother was a farmer's wife and the mother of 8 children.  She knew how to cook to feed an army of children and farm help, but cooked with heart and soul.  She sacrificed her body to serve the needs of others, often neglecting her own needs.  She lived "simply," except there was nothing simple or easy about her way of life.  When she passed away, I was in the kitchen canning applesauce.  It felt right to mourn that way- in the kitchen over a hot stove; it seemed the best place to honor her.  So as I cried over peeling innumerable pounds of apples, I thought about how this was exactly what I carried away from her life and legacy- a little hard work and sacrifice now will lend to blessings later.

My father's mother provided for her family's needs by working in a time when most women were at home, but with large medical bills that needed to be paid, my grandmother told me simply, "It wouldn't have been right for me not to do what I could to pay for them."  She worked as hard as my other grandmother, but her sacrifices were different.  Grandma Seifferlein was a woman of great faith.  She was a bold spirit whom did not leave things unsaid and was unwilling to settle for less than her expectations.  Perhaps you can understand what consternation this might have caused me as a young woman, and what a great appreciation I have of it now.

When she passed away, I was working with my husband on a sewing project.  It seemed right, because amongst her many talents, my grandmother was a crafter and sewed a number of creations for me.  She taught me how to crochet and knit as well as sew.  As I listened to the hum of the sewing machine, I thought about how this creating to bless others was a gift she had handed down to me.

This weekend, my siblings and cousins and I went through some of Grandma's things, choosing items of significance to cherish.  It's funny- and by that I mean we actually laughed- about the items that we chose or hunted for.  Overlooking items that likely had material value, we sought those treasures that said "Grandma."  We carried away Dixie cups because as a small child, a Dixie cup dispenser in the bathroom was a luxurious experience of drinks of water at your demand.  Worn ping pong paddles and poker chips spoke of hours of fun.  We searched for the basket that held little single serve packets of jelly that was present at every breakfast you ever ate at Grandma's.  I found a pair of knitting needles with the start of a scarf that I will take great comfort in finishing.  These are the items that mean the most to us.  And most valuable of all was a simple blue binder with a few of my grandma's handwritten memories.  

I find it fitting to share this with you in the midst of this Christmas season, because we are so quick to purchase gifts with a momentary wow-factor that will light up young faces, when what we are really all truly seeking deep down inside is for something that matters.  I don't remember many presents from either one of my grandmothers, except a few that were particularly meaningful, but what I remember most are stories that they shared, the lessons that they taught by the way they lived, and the memories that we made together.  And what I wish I had more of now is that; an insight into how they became the women that I admired so much.  Sadly, many of those memories have passed away with them.

As a grandchild now without grandparents this side of Heaven, can I encourage you?  Even if you think your grandchildren won't appreciate it now, please, write down some of your history, especially fun stories about your childhood and pivotal moments of how you came to be who you are now.  When everything else falls away- the toys are outdated and the trendy outfits are outgrown- this will really matter.


 

Needs a Little Salt

I'm going to invite you on a journey.  I have decided to put a spin on the age-old question, "What would you ask Jesus if He was right in front of you?"  I think that one has been done enough and though it's fun to ponder, I thought a more challenging exploration would be to wonder what God might ask you or me. We don't often think about God asking the questions.  What knowledge might the Creator of All Things need to obtain?  What is hidden from His wisdom?  But Jesus was known for asking questions, and particularly in response to being questioned, so I have committed to going through the Gospels and applying Jesus' questions to myself.  

I suppose we could start all the way at the Beginning when God asks Adam where he ran off to after eating the fruit, but I felt drawn to exploring the gospels first so that's where I'm starting today.  The first question I came upon was only five chapters into Matthew at verse 13, "You are the salt of the earth.  But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again?  It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men."

I can always tell when dinner misses the mark.  My husband gets up and grabs the salt from the cupboard.  I try not to feel deflated when it happens, but it's a gentle acknowledgement that something is missing.  Salt can turn an entire dish from bland to flavorful.  It draws the flavor out of other seasonings, but it's easily discerned from all other flavors.  You can tell with one taste if it's missing, but it never takes much to do the job (unless you're like my dad...), so when Jesus addressed a mountainside of people who were seeking his wisdom, he used an analogy they would understand.

Salt has a purpose that is almost entirely dependent on its flavor, so much so that if it lost the property of the salty flavor, most of us would have little use for it.  In the next couple of verses, Jesus sets up another analogy regarding light.  "You are the light of the world.  A city on a hill cannot be hidden.  Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl.  Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house.  In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven."  Like salt, light's purpose is attached to brightness and without the ability to brighten, it is not really light at all.  Each thing is defined by its purpose.

So Jesus says you are salt and you are light.  Your purpose is to sprinkle flavor into the bland or unsavory.  You can turn a whole dish around.  You are to brighten a darkened room.  You are to bring clarity to things that are hidden.  You are defined by your purpose.  As a Christian, your purpose cannot be separated from your definition.  Your purpose as a Christian is to let the light of Christ shine so that men might see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven.  Your purpose is to point others to God.  You are to give them a taste of the Lord.  You invite them to "taste and see that the Lord is good."  You are the flavor of God.

I saw a Facebook meme the other day that said, "You call yourself a 'christian' but Jesus wasn't a snob who judged people for their imperfections.  You may wanna get out your Bible and check up on that."  While I didn't feel all warm and fuzzy reading this and I might have felt my defenses come up, there is merit to this statement.  When labeling ourself "Christian", we run the risk of being a dish with something obvious missing.  A taste of our actions can cause others to wrinkle their nose and look for a discreet place to dispose of us.  We need to be mindful of that, because as Jesus points out, we are like salt and light; we cannot be defined separate from our purpose and it is easy for others to tell when something is missing.

So Jesus asks, "But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again?" When I first read this question I thought it was a rhetorical question.  I'm not a chemist, but it would seem to me that if salt lost its flavor, it is likely it is impossible to restore it.  But this question isn't for the salt I will use at dinner tonight, but for me, an ongoing sinner who loses her savoriness too often to be called a light in this world.  What then?  How does one return to a purpose she has lost sight of?

A Creator always defines the creation's purpose.  When Thomas Edison invented the light bulb, his intention was to give light.  The light bulb was not invented until it actually gave light.  Our purpose is defined in the life we live for Christ.  We can cease to be useful, like a burned out light bulb, or we can return to our Creator to be corrected and encouraged in His Work.

What areas of my life need to be sprinkled with salt?  Who have I left with a bad taste in their mouth?  Where have I contributed to the darkness rather than the light?  These are the questions Jesus might ask, not because He doesn't know, but because He needs to bring me to awareness that I don't always live the flavorful life He has called me to.

Because He Was Hungry

Like most stay-at-home moms, I crave the luxury of adult conversation.  I don't even mind if the conversation is punctuated with side-whispers of "Get your finger out of your nose and find a tissue!" or, "You just had a snack and dinner will be ready in half an hour" or the all too often, "No I don't know where the other Polly Pocket shoe is.  If you put your toys away where they belong, then you always know where to find them."  What was I saying?

Oh, right.  Conversation.  Adult.  It's sooo nice.  I don't care if it's about the weather, the kids, or something intelligent; I just like to talk with other adults.  So when Wednesday rolls around, I really look forward to the Wednesday night dinner at my Heart of the Shepherd, followed by service, because I get to sit with a few friends and kind of chat in between all of the Mom! MOM!  Mooooooooom!-ing.

Yesterday we arrived early on the scene and as I approached the doors to the multi-purpose room where we would be eating, I could see a gentleman sitting at our usual table.  This posed a dilemma for me.  Now, I'm not all territorial and get huffy about someone sitting in my seat, but there are usually only one or two high chairs set out, which is why I sit at that table.  There he was, sitting right next to the only highchair from what I could see.

I've seen him at church before.  We've had one or two brief conversations.  I couldn't tell you his name. So I was faced with a decision- intrude on his personal space and request to sit there with my four noisy children, or deliberately move the highchair to a different spot and look rude.  But there was more to the decision than just that.  I'm an extrovert only by practice.  Given a choice, I would remain with a small circle of friends and not step out of my comfort zone to meet new people.  Further, I find it challenging to start conversation with people who aren't in the same life journey (i.e. young kids) as me.  It's always an easy conversation starter to ask how old your little cutie is or what their name is, but to approach a lone adult, I find very intimidating.  What would I chat with him about?  Certainly he wouldn't find my day to day activities of interest like my mommy friends.

And if I sat with him, I probably wouldn't be sitting with my mommy friends tonight.  Bummer.  It's selfish, I know, but I relish that time of chatting, because outside of my husband, it's one of the few times I get face-to-face time with another adult (unless you count the cashiers at Kroger who probably wonder why I'm so chatty as I go through their line).

All this decision-making turmoil took place in a matter of seconds as I approached the room.  The honest truth is I didn't want to sit with him.  I just wanted to sit with someone I know, who could hear all about my day and tell me about their similar struggles and we could laugh and reassure ourselves that we're doing an okay job at this whole mothering thing.  But God told me to sit with him, even after I noticed that there was another highchair at an unoccupied table.

So I asked if we could join him, perhaps a little begrudgingly.  He nodded.  I asked how he was doing. "Fine," he said.  Nothing more.  Oh dear!  This was going to be hard.  I remembered he had once told me he worked as a caregiver for the elderly.  I asked him if he was still doing that.  "No," came the short reply.

"On to something else?" I asked.

"Yes."

I made small talk with Colette.  Got up and got us drinks.  Wondered if there was anything more I should say or if I should take his short answers as a hint that he wasn't really looking to chat.  I made small talk with another mom who passed our table up for another one with more seating.  And we sat in silence for a few minutes, while I searched my brain for something to say.

"This where they play men's basketball?" he suddenly asked.

"Yes!" I said, maybe a little too enthusiastically.

"You know what time that is?"

I offered what I knew and then he asked what time service was on Sundays.  "There's a Bible Study on Sunday too, right?" he asked.

Now I was smiling.  "There is," I said.  "I teach one of them and we would love to have you join us!"

"Oh really?  What are you studying?"  He seemed all too happy to talk now.

I told him we were studying the book of Ecclesiastes and he inquired what "that one" was about.  I told him it was written by Solomon and that experts suspect he might have struggled with depression.  "It's sort of evident in the first couple of chapters," I said.  "I suppose you could say it's Solomon's journey out of depression; his discovery of purpose."  I told him how I relate to the book because I've had my struggles with depression, too.  I've thirsted for meaning.

"Me too," he said.  He said it sounded like just what he needed.

"Ecclesiastes, huh?  Sunday?  What about now?  Let's do this now!" he laughed.  "Because I'm hungry," he said a little more seriously, hungrily.  He wasn't referencing the meal we were about to receive.  "This," he said with a sweep of his hand, "Is the only thing I've found that fixes it."

We talked through dinner about Solomon's discoveries about the pursuits of life.  We made some small talk.  Then, he shared a recent medical diagnosis and there was evident uncertainty in how he should approach this new way of life.  I encouraged him to see a nutritionist.  I urged him to join us on Sunday.  I found myself caring.  I could have sat somewhere else and missed all of this, simply because I cared about my comfort and my desires.

I felt like the boy who offered up his fish and loaves to feed the five thousand and watched a miracle unfold.  It was a meager offering- as if gracing someone with my presence at the dinner table can be considered an offering at all.  I didn't even do it joyfully, just obediently, but God feeds the hungry.  If it was up to me, well...

He calls us to sit with them.  To break bread.  To get personal, even when it's uncomfortable.  To seek the hurt.  Find the need.  See the hunger.  Because every single person in this world is hungry.

There's only One fix for that.

Then Jesus declared, "I am the bread of life.  He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty." John 6:35